


Deep Down The Rabbit Hole

by DevilDog



Category: Villainous
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Arson, Blood, Body Horror, Bullying, Cannibalism, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Depression, Eating Disorder, Eventual Paperhat, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Flug has some really complex issues, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insanity, M/M, Medical Torture, Murder, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other forms of Violence, Paperhat - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Image Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Torture, blackhat being genuine for once, bludgeon, bullied dr flug, but that's a given, i think, lots of blood, spd-sadistic personality disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilDog/pseuds/DevilDog
Summary: There's a few secrets that everyone is keeping from each other... (under editing)





	1. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hold on folks, this is a gory chapter.

10:56 p.m., Halloween night at Black Hat Organization. Blackhat was arriving at the manor after a long night of fun. Since it's opening in June of 1860, Blackhat had kept Halloween an off day for himself and all employees. That way he had no distractions, and could focus on enjoying his night out. It was the one day of the year were he could kill copious amounts of people and no one could stop him. Because all the cops and heroes were too busy with a slew of petty teenage criminals who wanted to commit Halloween themed crimes. So while a bunch of regretful teenagers were sitting in jail, waiting to be bailed out by their angry and disappointed parents, Blackhat killed and mauled about 7 random people. There were still bits of bloody flesh stuck in his teeth. Sadly, his night of fun was cut short from a thunder storm that had begun to roll into the area within the past hour. It had already started raining and he was trying to get in as quickly as possible. 

"WAIT!" Blackhat turned around to see his favorite annoying fan girl, Dementcia, running towards him. He always forgets why he ever even hired her...until he needs someone dead and distributed at the bottom four different lakes. She also had gone out earlier that night to have her own night of fun. But unlike Blackhat, who prefers to lure his victims into the woods to terrify them before a fairy quick kill and mauling, Dementcia liked to chase them into dark corners where she can beat them to death with a metal baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire. She had somehow managed to slip past the police and civilians, despite being blood spattered and carrying a weapon. But that was the great thing about Halloween, as long as you could act normal, you could get away with anything. All Dementcia had to do was laugh while around large groups of people and make comments like 'Oh my God, this wig itches!' And no one would suspect a thing. 

Blackhat rolled his eyes and turned back; continuing to unlock the door. She finally got to the porch, swinging the bloodied bat back and forth. 

"Well, tonight was fun." She giggled, putting her hands and bat behind her back. 

"For once, in the time I've known you, I agree." He said, glancing back at her for just a second. He had finally unlocked the door and stepped in, wiping his shoes off. Dementcia cheerfully skipped in after him. The manor seemed eerily quiet. They made their way up to their rooms. Dementcia left her bloodied bat by 5.0.5.'s bed to scare him when he woke up in the morning. They were both making their way to their rooms when there was a loud crash coming from the other end of the hall where the lab was. Blackhat and Dementcia looked at each other for a moment; then turned their attention to the open lab door at the other end of the hall.

"I thought Dr. Cinnamon roll was asleep..." Dementcia whispered. 'Dr. Cinnamon roll' had recently become Dementcia's nickname for Dr. Flug since he was so nervous all the time and horrible at evil. 

"If by 'Dr. Cinnamon roll' you mean Flug, then yes. That's what I thought too." He didn't take his eye off the open door the entire time he spoke. Both glanced at each other one last time before quickly and quietly making their way towards the door. As usual, the lab was brightly lit from the fluorescent lightbulbs over head, but this time it stood out from the otherwise pitch black manor. Dr. Flug was in the corner of the room putting some things back on to a shelf. Those things must've been what had fell and made the noise nearly a minute earlier. 

Flug was dressed slightly different than usual. His lab coat was buttoned so that it covered his clothes and there were slips over his shoes, like the ones surgeons wear to avoid getting blood on their clothes. Neither one had any clue what Flug was doing, so they looked around the room for some clues. The operating table that was barely ever used for anything was in the middle of the room. It had a lumpy sheet over it, almost as a human was under it...but that was impossible. Flug would never dissect a corpse for fun...would he? Their suspicions were confirmed when Flug removed the sheet to reveal a woman lying there with restraints on her wrists. Was...was she still alive? Blackhat and Dementcia waited there in silence. Flug got a syringe and injected her with something. Her body twitched and the woman started groaning. Flug patted her cheek. 

"R-Rise and shine, Miss Prales." Miss Prales... Where had they heard that name before? It suddenly clicked in Blackhat's mind, and in Dementcia's next. It was Patricia Prales, local 'hero' cop. She groggily opened her eyes. 

"Mmmmmm...W-Where am I?" 

"You're i-in my lab, Miss Prales." 

"W-What? Who are you?"

"I'm Dr. Flug. I've heard a lot about you on the news. I thank you so much for all the things you've done."

"Umm...thank you. But...what am I doing here?" Flug paused for a moment, before hesitantly answering her.  

"To help me with something." Thunder and lightning flashed outside as he said the words. He walked over to one of the counters and picked up a pair of scissors. He began to cut off her shirt and sports bra. She started to struggle against her restraints. After her upper torso was completely exposed, he went over to the counter again and picked up something else. 

 

"W-Wait w-what ar-are you d-d-doing?" Patricia's voice sounded shaky. So much for the 'fearless hero' the press portrayed her as. Flug turned around with a scalpel in his hands. He stepped towards her and placed it just above her heart.

"I-I'm so-sorry." He pressed the scalpel down; he drug it across her skin. A perfect slit and line of blood followed it. Patricia screamed. He stopped right before he got to the waist line of her jeans. Flug sighed loudly and slouched, like an extremely heavy invisible object had been removed from his shoulders at that exact moment. He then put down the scalpel and picked up a pair of forceps. He cut two horizontal lines at the beginning and end of the first cut to create flaps of skin, which he slowly peeled back and pinned to her sides. Tears had welled up in Patricia's eyes and started to roll down her face. The entirety of her rib cage and intestines were exposed. 

"Now, just to give the mortician a little challenge..." Flug stood up straight now, and spoke with a confidence that neither Blackhat or Dementcia had ever heard before. They made sure that Flug couldn't see them; neither one wanted to miss this rare occurrence. 

"...lets remove these!" Flug removed the pins then began to cut the flaps of skin off using the forceps. He sounded...eager; it made Dementcia uneasy, and a chill ran down her spine. On the other hand, Blackhat looked on in awe. He was seemingly mesmerized by the cruel and unusual torture that he didn't think Flug was even capable of. Meanwhile, Patricia sobbed loudly as Flug continued to remove the thick flap of skin from her torso. 

"There! Done!" Flug clutched the skin by the beginning of the breast, and then held it out in front of him. Blood dripped from the skin and onto the floor. The reason he had put the slips on his shoes had become evident now with fresh smears of blood on the metal floor of the lab. But what the doctor did next utterly shocked his little audience. He tilted the bag up ever so slightly, so he could fit the skin underneath without having to remove it. A squishing noise was heard as the doctor sunk his teeth into it.

"Mmmm..." Flug groaned in ecstasy as he scarfed down the skin and breast, letting out a faint burp not even a moment after finishing. Blood had stained the front of the bag where his mouth would be, cascaded down the white of his lab coat. He was quick to remove the other flap with the forceps. He repeated his previous actions and ate the second piece. For a small man, he had a large stomach. 

Patricia was weeping from pain. Flug calmly watched her exposed heart beat rapidly in her chest. Her lungs shrunk and swelled as she breathed in between sobs. 

"W-W-Why a-are you d-do-ing th-this?!" She choked out, still sobbing. Once again, Flug hesitated before answering her question. 

"I have my reasons." He quietly replied, trying not to pay very much attention to what she was saying. 

"Now lets see what else I can do." Flug picked up the scalpel again, and after looking about her skinless torso for a minute, he decided to focus on her stomach for a while. He drug the scalpel across her stomach. Thick fluids poured form the opening; an audible sizzle was heard as the fluids burned her other organs below it. Flug made flaps of stomach tissue and pinned them back. Then proceeded to reach in her stomach and pull out a now unrecognizable piece of partially digested food. He dangled it in front of her face until the remaining contents of her stomach was sucked back up through her esophagus and came out her mouth. He dropped the piece of food back into her stomach and she retched again. 

Patricia's tear ducts had run dry at this point. She didn't think that her situation could really get any worse. But Flug still had one more trick up his sleeve. He returned to the scissors and cut down her pant legs. If it had been twenty minutes ago, she would've been kicking for her life. Though there was enough pain in her torso and stomach that she had resigned herself to death; which most people would've done by now. Flug lifted the front of the bag up. Blackhat and Dementcia leaned forward in hopes to see his face, but his back was to them. Flug leaned down and took a bite of Patricia's thigh. She gasped and let out of final sob. Blackhat and Dementcia watched Flug eat all the flesh off her legs for the next thirty minutes. 

When he was done eating he pulled the bag back over his face and took a step back to look at Patricia's body. She had died from loss of blood at some point during his violent meal. Her eyes were still open; he closed them and continued to stare at her. His paper bag was soaked with blood all the way up to his goggles, along with his lab coat which was stained red in the front. Flug slowly walked over to his chair with his head hung low then sat down. He buried his face in his hands, leaving bloody hand prints on the clean part of his bag. After a few minutes of this, he looked up to see his boss and Dementcia staring at him from the doorway. 

"Oh! Sir! Dementcia! I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't think you'd be back u-until at least one A.M. and-" All confidence from earlier was gone now.

"Woah, Dr. Cinnamon roll is evil...Well, I'm gonna go shower and contemplate my entire life now." Dementcia then started to walk away. Then she suddenly stopped and turned around on her heel. Then waltzed into the lab. She went right up to Patricia's corpse, pulled out a pocket knife, and proceeded scalp her. 

"I need her hair for one of my dollies." Dementcia had a bit of a hobby to replace the fake plastic hair of of her dolls with real hair every now and again. She smiled and turned back to face Flug. 

"Thanks for this!" She held Patricia's light brown ponytail in front of his face for a moment before skipping off to the bathroom. Blackhat walked over to Patricia's corpse and thoughtfully looked over it. 

"I'm impressed, doctor. I never expected anything like this from you. I admire your taste in body parts..." Then he ripped the heart from the corpse's chest.

"...but I prefer the hearts." He then proceeded to take a bite out of it, as if it were an apple, then dropped it on the floor and walked out. He didn't even do so much as flinch when blood poured from the heart. Flug stood there in shock from Dementcia not caring that he just killed someone, and from Blackhat actually complementing him! No terror, no yelling, nothing! Eventually, he came back to his senses and began cleaning up the lab.


	2. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some set up, and coffee.

It didn't take very long for Flug to clean the lab and incinerate the body, but he didn't get that much sleep that night. Sleeping had been a problem for him for a while now. There had been some things stirring in his mind that were hard to stop thinking about. He hoped that the others would ignore the 'incident' from last night when he got his coffee that morning, and continue ignoring it for the rest of his life. At least the memory would serve as a good reminder to keep the lab door shut and locked whenever possible. It would honestly cut down on quite a few problems he had with Dementcia and 5.0.5. from waltzing into the lab whenever they wanted and fucking with things. Though he was worried Blackhat might get angry with him if he did that. 

Flug had an interesting relationship with his boss and the others he lived with. For instance, 5.0.5. was his creation. Sure, he technically was the only one of his experiments that survived past infancy. And was also partially considered failed due to the fact he was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be. But Flug had always been quite fond of the little, now big, thing. He was secretly ecstatic when Blackhat said he didn't care what he did with 5.0.5., since that meant he could technically keep and raise him. Because of that, most would assume they had a father/son sort of relationship, though in reality they had more of a 'boy and his dog' relationship with each other. Especially when Flug found out how strong 5.0.5. was and that he could be trained to clean the manor.

Dementcia was also one of his experiments, once again by technicality. He remembers when they hired her; she was a normal human, unless you counted her Mania, who they recognized from the newspaper as a recently escaped mental hospital patient. She had heard of Blackhat and was a fan who wanted to work for him. She had to go on this crazy 'kill someone and hide the body' mission that she passed with flying colors. So of course she was hired, but had to wear a tracking device to make sure she wouldn't try escape if she her Mania got worse than it already was. Not long after that, Flug needed a test subject for his newest experiment. He was trying to make humans more powerful by fusing regular human genes with various lizard genes. Dementcia insisted on being the test subject, saying that she wanted super powers. Flug explained that she could die from it, though she didn't care. So he went through with the experiment and it was a success! Dementcia got fangs, a craving for bugs, one yellow eye, naturally faster movements, the ability to scale walls, and possibly an extended lifespan! She became better at killing and hiding bodies from her new abilities, and also became fairly good at collecting intel. Unfortunately, this also opened up new ways for he to mess with things. But hey, you win some, you lose some. They weren't extremely close and they teased each other a lot, but both of them agreed that they were friends in an 'annoying sibling' kinda way. 

Blackhat, though, had always had the simplest relationship. Blackhat seemed to have one of two modes when he was at the manor. The first was antisocial. This was his usual self. During most of this time he'd just stay alone in his office, doing paperwork and who knows what else. Or he'd be quietly walking in and around the manor making sure everything was running the way it was supposed to be running, and making sure that everyone was eating, sleeping, etc. so that they didn't die. Because good hit-girls and evil geniuses were hard to come by; making sure that his employees were alive was much easier than replacing them when ever they died.

The second was angry. Most people think this is his usual shelf because it's what they see of him in commercials. Though in reality, it wasn't as common as most think. Flug, Dementcia, and 5.0.5. all agreed that Blackhat was terrifying when he was angry. He'd yell and scream at them whenever they did something stupid. But there was one odd thing about his anger, when ever the problem didn't have anything to do with the others he seemed to just...yell at the air. He'd just take a few minutes to yell at nothing, about nothing. Anger was really the only way he could express any sort of emotion, if he could even feel any other emotions. 

Their relationship could pretty much be summed up in two sentences. One- Blackhat was the boss who yelled at Flug, the employee, when he did or made something stupid. Two- Blackhat had some small shred of interest in his Flug's creations, more so when the were useful rather than duds. Which made some sense, because his creations were part of the business, but there was something about his general interest that seemed off to Flug. Though maybe he was just paranoid, he usually was. 

So there Flug stood, outside the kitchen doorway, gathering up enough courage to go in and get his coffee as usual. He tried to remember everything from last night to spark some scrap of courage. Flug loved doing the things he did around every two months, even though though it caused him anguish afterwards. And the best part was that he had to, for a few reasons. The thought of Patricia's sobs as he ate her flesh in front of her gave him just enough confidence to get him to walk into the room. They were all there. 5.0.5. was smiling as always and getting his food from the fridge (since Flug usually made it the night before for him), Dementcia was in a half sleep stupor and hadn't even bothered to get out of her PJs, and Blackhat was seated at the table while he sipped his tea and read the newspaper.

Flug went to get his coffee immediately; he was in a hurry to leave. But Dementcia had beaten him to it, so he would have to wait his turn. He watched in awe as she proceeded to make the weirdest coffee imaginable. Dementcia put in a creamer, a sugar cube, lemon juice, honey, salt, pepper, cinnamon, garlic, a sprinkle of pancake mix, and whipped cream to top it all off. Now Flug had witnessed her make this abomination of a coffee before, but he'd be damned if he ever even came close to accepting her, to put it lightly, eccentric tastes. And with shaking hands began to make his own coffee. Flug never shared in Dementcia's taste when it came to coffee and enjoyed the most when it was simply black. He popped a bright orange straw in it so he could drink without removing the bag. He clutched the mug and began to walk out of the kitchen. He was almost out scot free, when the gravel voice that could only belong to one person spoke up in the silent room. 

"Leaving already, doctor?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still nothing, really.


	3. Admit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some stuff to set up BH's part of the story.

"Leaving already, doctor?"

If you interact with someone nearly everyday for long enough, you generally develop one of two opinions on them. The first is hating said person's mere existence. The second is falling in love with them. At least that's how it goes in the movies. Unfortunately, this wasn't just some brightly colored cartoon being aired on tv; this was reality. And in reality, Blackhat hadn't come to either conclusion when it came to the existence of the anxious, but evil genius know as Dr. Flug. 

Though something could be said for exactly what his opinion was on him. Surprisingly, it was no where near hate. While he disliked the fact that Flug seemed to lack any sort of malice. He very much enjoyed and benefited from his ability to invent weapons. But that was obvious; he would've killed Flug not long after he started working for him if he didn't. Truth be told, Blackhat had taken a gamble hiring Flug in the first place. Even though he could prove he was who he said he was after two years of being missing, and crashing a plane into the manor. Dr. Flug begging for his life, an interesting memory to say the least.

FLASHBACK

"I-I'm so s-s-sorry, M-Mr.-"

"Blackhat, my name is Blackhat."

"Oh, y-yes, Mr. B-Blackh-h-hat, s-sir! I'm s-so sor-sorry for-" 

"ENOUGH!" The man silenced himself. Blackhat had little tolerance for rambling, no matter what the subject. The man that stood shaking before him was wearing a pilot'a uniform and paper bag with eye holes poked through it; he wasn't exactly sure how the man could see, not that he cared. What he did care about was the fact that there was blood on the front of his uniform and hands. 

"Why, exactly, are there blood stains on your clothes?"

"Oh, um, m-my copilot, h-he d-d-died an-and I-" Blackhat walked past him in the middle of his statement and inspected the windshield and the dead body inside it.

The windshield was almost completely destroyed. There was the body of a man sitting in the pilot's seat. He had pieces of glass and other debris from crashing into the manor jutting out of his chest and face. He assumed that the blood on his uniform somehow came from those wounds. 

"You were checking to see if your friend was still alive, I presume?"

"Y-Yeah..." 

"Well then..." Blackhat stepped towards him and the shocked man stumbled backwards onto the floor.

"You're going to be joining him soon." He had no reason to keep him alive, and was just about to pin him down and eviscerate him when he put his hands over his head and started pleading for his life.

"W-Wait! Pl-Please don't kill me! I-I'll work for you, anything! Just please don't kill me!" Normally Blackhat would've ignored his pleading like he did with most of his victims, but it had been a while since he'd last broken a humans spirit. So, he stopped.

"What is your name?"

"I-I'm Dr. Flug."

"Dr. Flug...I've heard that name before...The paper said it was the two year anniversary of your disappearance yesterday. How are you suddenly a pilot?"

"I-It's a long story, s-sir...It all started-"

"It was a rhetorical question." Blackhat growled. Dr. Flug didn't respond to that. 

"Now tell me, doctor, what exactly do you have to offer me? What exactly can you do?" 

"W-Well, I'm an engineer, I also know some biology, chemistry, physics too. I graduated top o-of my class, a-and-" 

"Well you sound like a smart man." Normally, Blackhat would've let him go on until he was sputtering before yelling at him some more and killing him. But Dr. Flug actually had something to offer him. Blackhat had been looking for a scientist for two weeks now, and all of the few respondents were absolutely shit at science, or anything else, for that matter. And now he had a scientist trembling in front of him; besides, if he couldn't do his job right then Blackhat could simply kill him. 

"Alright, you're hired."

END OF FLASHBACK 

Since that day Flug had always done fairly well at his job, which in all honesty wasn't expected. Now of course Flug had the occasional invention that didn't work or simply had flaws that were still being worked out. Though almost all of his inventions had worked without a hitch, and sold out within a week or so. And that was the main reason that he wasn't currently dead. 

Though more recently, Blackhat had become interested in the doctor's work. He enjoyed seeing him toiling on a machine with a certain expression on his face that Blackhat had never really seen before. It was a sort of...focus that was one of the few things in life that was beyond him. He thought he knew all of the emotions, even if he didn't understand them. Anger, happiness, sadness, love...Love baffled him the most, but that's beside the point.

That inexplicable little emotion just happened to be fascinating to Blackhat, and maybe he watched him work for a little too long. But none the less, he didn't think of him as anything more than a scared, anxious scientist that was very entertaining to watch. Or at least that was his opinion until the events of last night.

Last night changed some of Blackhat's views on Flug. For starters, it showed that some part of him had urge to cause harm to others. It also showed just how much pain he was capable of causing. The thought of Flug's darker side finally showing was truly intriguing. For the first since they met, in some sense, Blackhat actually admired Dr. Flug. 

Yes, that's correct. He admired Flug. Or more specifically he admired the simple truth of who Flug was, despite the fact he wouldn't admit it. If there was one thing that Blackhat was horrible at, it was admitting things. And Blackhat was never going to admit that he wanted to converse with the anxious Dr. Flug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm not sure where I'm going with this story but that's ok.


	4. Chat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some talking between everyone.

Flug stood frozen in the doorway. He was almost out of there with no conversing. Social interactions gave him enough anxiety already, but this was a whole new level of anxiousness. His hands were shaking so much that his coffee threatened to spill all over the kitchen floor. 

He knew what Blackhat was doing. He was going to patronize him with that posh charm of his about last night. He knew that charm very well. It was how he became so good at business. He charmed people; he told them everything they wanted to hear, and once he had them wrapped around his finger they would do anything he asked. Mainly because they all thought that charm was real. And maybe that's why Dementcia liked him so much. 

But Flug had worked with Blackhat long enough to know when he was faking it. The tone in his voice, that condescending smile, to Flug it gave him away instantly. He hated that charm. Nothing good ever came to those who were on the receiving end of it. Though he had to answer him. What else could he do?

"I-I j-just wanted t-t-to get an ear-early s-start on m-m-my ne-next project, s-sir." Flug somehow managed to choke out in his panic.

"Well, it can wait. Come sit down." Flug stopped shaking for a moment before shaking even more. Was that a hint of...genuine tone in his voice?! Even if it was just a hint, did that really just happen? Flug really couldn't tell. He turned around and sat at the table. He still continued to shake in his seat. 

"I still can't believe the events of last night." All color drained from Flug's face. There it was. That was exactly what Flug was trying to avoid. But apparently life wasn't on his side today, so now the the only real options were to try to make small talk about it or change the subject. Flug opted for the second choice.

"Oh...w-well you know...i-it really isn't a b-big deal...m-my inventions are hon-honestly more w-worth talking about." 

"I personally think last nights events need discussing." Oh great, he didn't want to change the subject.

"O-Oh, um, ok..." Flug didn't have much to say about last night; at least nothing that he was comfortable saying to Blackhat, or anyone for that matter. He nervously shifted his attention to Demencia, who he wasn't even sure was sentient and the coffee she just made proved his theory that she wasn't. She sipped her coffee and payed no attention to the fact that either of them existed. 5.0.5 was happily eating his food without a care in the world. Neither of them seemed to even notice that he and Blackhat were talking, and Flug hoped it stayed that way. 

"I never thought you were capable of such... wonderful atrocities." There was that fake charm that Flug hated so much. 

"Um, th-thank you, sir.." Flug in no way liked being told what he had done to others if it had something to do with killing people. Well, a simple 'good job' was appreciated despite what he'd done, but that's off topic. He never liked doing what he did, especially after the person was dead since the voices would scream at him about their death, but the action and his enjoyment of it was inevitable no matter what the circumstances. So for now he would have to deal with the consequence that was being told about it. Oh well, at least he wasn't being patronized, too. 

"I still personally think the organs taste better, but maybe it's different for humans." 

"Human..." Flug mumbles. At some point between his response to Blackhat's first comment he had gotten lost in his own thoughts, and was now simply half listening to his boss speaking. 'Human' was a term that had been popping up in Flug's head for years now. There was an unfortunate little discovery about himself that Flug made a long, long time ago, which he had been very good at hiding. 

"What was that?" Flug was ripped out of his thoughts by Blackhat's sudden question. 

"N-Nothing, sir! I-I was just thinking about wh-what you said..." Flug quickly made up a lie; his heart pounded in his chest. Blackhat narrowed his eyes at him, but continued with his little speech.

"As I was saying...Your torture technique was particularly unique, if I do say so myself..." Flug was feeling worse than usual after a kill as the voices were yelling louder then ever. Unlike Blackhat, who didn't hear voices, or Demencia, who heard voices that told her to kill, Flug had voices that simply mocked him, and they could yell quite loudly. He wanted so much to get up from the breakfast table and run out of the kitchen and back to the lab where he could drown himself in work so he might just not hear the voices anymore. Though unfortunately he could do nothing but wait until Blackhat was done talking. 

"Heeeeeyyyyyyyy, Dr. Cinnamon roll..." Dementcia suddenly perked up a little, probably from the coffee, and patted Flug's head. She had seemed to finally realize that there were other people in the room with her. Yet her eyes week still half open from her early morning drowsiness. Not that any of this was particularly surprising; Dementcia was never a morning person unlike 5.0.5. Her sudden talking silenced Blackhat for a moment.

"Good morning, Dementcia. How's the coffee?" Flug used the 'one beat too long' pause and her half awake, early morning small talk to get out of his chat with Blackhat. Flug thanked her mentally for that.

"Great." She took a finishing swig of the coffee and Flug nearly gagged. He would also never get used to her actually drinking that abomination of a coffee either. 

Blackhat looked slightly confused as to why Flug had suddenly started talking to Demencia, but didn't interrupt. 

"And how's the poison-dildo-death-shooter thingy going?" Flug face-palmed snd signed loudly. 

"It's not a 'poison-dildo-death-shooter', and thank you for reminding me about that; I need to get to work on it." Flug took the chance he had to leave, getting up from his chair and leaving the room as quickly as possible without running.

The others looked at his empty seat. His eagerness to leave seemed a bit off. Though no one said anything about it. They noticed the mug left on the table. 'That's funny, he didn't even drink his coffee.' Seemed to be the only thing anyone could think at the moment. And it was and always will be the only time that they were ever all thinking the same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this fic is slow, BUT it'll go somewhere, I know it!


	5. The Point

Dr. Flug quickly walked to the lab; he wanted to get away from all of them at the moment. He wanted nothing but to be alone. Once he was in the lab, he leaned against the outside of the door frame and took a deep breath. It felt nice to be away from Demencia's almost always unintentional, but constant insults. It also felt nice to get away from Blackhat's unusual compliments. What was up with that? Flug didn't know and wasn't completely sure if he wanted to. 

Flug shook his head and decided it was best to not think about it and get straight to work. The 'Wilting Gun' was almost done, and that was a good thing. He was coating the special bullets when the main reason that his inventions caused trouble during commercial filming walked in. 

"HEY FLUG-STER!" Demencia yelled at the top of her lungs behind him. Her morning coffee must've kicked in. 

"Hi, Dem..." Flug mumbled. It was gonna be a long morning...

"You forgot this." Demencia plopped Flug's mug of coffee on the the desk where he was working, and nearly split it on the gun. 

"Oh, thanks." He picked up the coffee and sipped it through the straw. It was almost cold, though he didn't care at the moment. 

"You know ya still haven't told me 'bout the dildo-shooter...SO SPILL!" She leaned onto his back and rested her head on his shoulder. 

"I told you not to call it that!" Flug put down the bullets and and pushed her off his back. 

"Well those things it shoots look like mini dildos, so what else do you want me to call it?"

"It's called the 'Wilting Gun', so why don't you call it that?"

"That's a stupid name. Why the fuck would you call it that?" 

"Because those 'mini dildo bullets' that you seem to be obsessed with are just simply elongated bullets that are thickly coated with a poison called C-31 that somewhat slowly spreads through the body after it has made its way into the system through some sort of opening. It then rots the infected parts of the flesh off. The rotten piece of flesh turns black with some dark green too; hence the 'wilting' part of the name. Now even though it is slightly slow, it's very effective. The victim will most likely be dead by one hour depending on a few variables such as body mass, infection point, etc. There is no conceivable cure for this poison yet. So there would be no way for said victim to cure themselves, except for maybe amputating the area that that they were shot in if possible. So to sum it all up, it's not very good for a quick kill, but it is effective and very painful for victims who have useful information that you need to get out of them. It also looks like a real gun, so your victims never know what's coming!" Demencia had a short attention span; she stopped listening about halfway through his explanation.

"Uhhhh...yeah, cool story." Flug knew she hadn't been listening. He rolled his eyes. 

"Gee, thanks." The sarcasm in his voice was plainly evident. He went back to coating the rest of the bullets as Demencia watched him and relentlessly poked the side of his bag covered head. Flug swatted her away, but simply giggled, then she fled under the table and started poking at his stomach. This went on for about two minutes straight before Flug grew tired of it. He grunted and put the bullets down before standing up. 

"Demencia! Stop that, now!" 

"UGH! Fine, fucker! But I'm bored!" Flug paused for a moment. Demencia wasn't protesting? That wasn't like her.

"Wait, that's it? You're just going to stop? No refusal? No protesting? No messing with everything else?"

"Yeah." Demencia plopped down in another chair across the room, and put her feet up on a small table that had a bin a gears and other spare parts of on it. Flug was baffled by her behavior. This wasn't like her at all. 

"Um...why?" 

"Well if you found out that a cinnamon roll actually did all this cool, amazing, violent stuff when you weren't looking, you'd respect it a little more too, right?" There it was again. There was the thing that Flug was trying to avoid for the second time.

"Can we not talk about that, Dem?" Flug's voice had gone quiet. 

"Why? What you did was fucking awesome! I never would've thought to use the food from someone's belly to make them puke. That was so COOL!"

"It was really nothing special." Flug's voice was nearly a whisper now. 

"Yes it was! The fact you aren't completely spineless is great!" 

"Nothing that I did last night was great..."

"But it is great 'cause now we can do shit together! Like we can go on sprees together! I'll even let you borrow one of my bats."

"By the way, never put your bats anywhere near 5.0.5's space again...He accidentally woke up at three AM this morning and he was scared out of his mind...!" Demencia rolled her eyes.

"He'll be fine. Now back to the point." 

"There was a point to this?" Flug had become distant. He was off in his mind again. Pondering the events of last night. Demencia noticed the change in his voice. She might've not been the smartest person around, but she definitely wasn't stupid. She sensed that the comment wasn't just about the conversation. There was a tense pause in there discussion.

"Hey Flug-ster, are you ok?..." There was a single twinge of concern in her voice. 

"Hmm...? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." That was a lie. Demencia sensed that something was up, though she didn't pry for more details. 

"Alright...I guess I'll see you later...Dr. Cinnamon roll..." Normally she would've just found something else to mess with in the lab, or blabber on about everything under the sun until Flug would be slamming his head on his desk in frustration. But today was different. Something was wrong. Demencia could smell it. 

Most people would never guess it, but she could read the atmosphere better than she could read her own handwriting. She just pretended that she didn't to annoy others because she found it hilarious when others were frustrated. 

Something was up, something big. And even though Demencia loved to hear others' secrets, there were times that she needed to let it be. Now was one of those times. Besides, finding out that Flug tortured and ate people (even though that might've been the his first and last time doing it) was enough to satisfy her snooping for a while. 

Meanwhile, in the lab, Flug was trying to focus on coating those bullets. But no matter how hard he tried, he kept coming back to the night before. 

'This is all their fault...' He thought. If they had just come home a little later, if they had just gone to bed, if they had just not looked, if they just not talked about it, then he wouldn't be dwelling on the matter right now! He could've just done what he usually does, which was practically work himself to death for the next week so he couldn't hear the voices.

Unfortunately they had seen it. And unfortunately they insisted on discussing it. So now there was no going back from it. He had to find a way to get his mind off the topic. He had to. 'Just think about your work. Just think about your work.' Yes, that was it. Just keep doing that. So he did, and it worked. 

 

 

At least for a little bit.


	6. Shut Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter, so I hope you're ready

Blackhat had finished his morning cup of tea, was done reading the paper, and now finally left the kitchen. He wondered why exactly Flug was acting strangely that morning as he walked down the halls to his office. It was almost as if he didn't want to discuss last night's events. 

But why on earth would he want to do that? It wasn't like it was anything to be embarrassed about; at least not in this household. Just some good, old-fashioned, bloody fun. Sure it was at the expense of someone else's life, but death was their business at B.H.Org. and business was good as it usually was. So what was the problem? He was pretty sure that it had something to do with human...emotions...? He wasn't completely sure, but he suspected that was the problem. 

Ugh, emotions. 

It was safe to say that Blackhat generally hated emotions. They were pointless to him. At least most of them were. Most people would describe him as an emotionless hell-spawn, but he wasn't completely emotionless; he couldn't be or else he wouldn't be a villain. Because without feeling glory from his actions there would be no motivation to do things like conquer the world. 

But other than glory, hate, anger, and of course bloodlust he had no use for the other emotions. So he's tried to to live his life without them since age 206. Which he did by avoiding any sort of relationship with anyone for more than 5 years. And he's been successful at it from so on. Well, unless you count that fascination of Flug, which he would hardly classify as an emotion. Though he had to say, his interest was peeked. He genuinely wanted to find out more about Flug; ask him about torture preferences, maybe talk a little more in depth about his inventions than just explaining what they do before he gets the approval to make them, and...whatever else. 

The keyword in that statement was wanted. It wasn't something he could really ever do -at least in it's fullest- without looking off. None the less he attempted talking to Flug that morning. But instead of genuineness he went with his go-to fake charm to not look too odd in front of everyone. It didn't completely fail, though then again his attempt to talk to him didn't completely succeed either. Which brought Blackhat right back to where he was in the first place. Genuinely talking to any living being was a foreign concept to him. He hadn't had a genuine conversation with anyone since...well he had never had a genuine conversation. 

He had been alive for about 3,000 years on this earth; you would've thought he'd done everything. 

He settled on that note as he had got to his office. He had paperwork to do. When you were the sole owner of a multi billion dollar organization, there was always paperwork to do. He had spent 400 years building up his business to the point where it was now. Which wasn't too much of an impressive feat considering the things he'd done before. Like destroying the solar system's 10th planet, Asclepius. Right around the time the planets were being discovered, there were rumored to be 10 planets. And in a demonstration of his true power and potential to a particularly incredulous, testy, and annoying astronomer he destroyed the planet on the outermost ring of the solar system, which just happened to be Asclepius, with his mind. Of course said astronomer immediately ran to the roof of his three story house and jumped off the minute he learned that the planet he himself discovered had been obliterated by the man standing in front of him, not forgetting to renounce God on his way to the roof of course, but at least it shut him up. 

Or like the time he conquered the world, then faked his death so that the world would resort to chaos, only to mysteriously arise and conquer the world again. He did that by the time he was about 2,000, but got bored after a good 56 years of ruling because nobody could stop him. So he gave it up by faking his death for the second time. There was about 12 years of chaos before the world finally sorted itself out. 

Since then, most everyone has forgotten about his ruling; though there are still books and others artifacts proving that he did rule the world, twice. It's just that people prefer to ignore the fact it happened. Now, he runs an organization dedicated to making money and making the world a little more evil, just one dead hero and soon to be released Wilting Gun at a time. 

That was supposed to be the slogan Blackhat began with in the next recorded commercial, which was going to be for the Wilting Gun. Blackhat though of it as he started his paperwork. And it brought him right back to Flug. He scowled at nothing in particular and shook his head a little. He was supposed to be doing paperwork, not thinking about Flug! Even if he was acting strangely this morning, it was no excuse to be distracted. 

So he continued reading letters and documents, writing his own letters and documents, signing what needed to be signed, etc. Most people would think of the job as tedious. Though Blackhat didn't mind it. He was a bit of a work-oholic. It was yet another thing he wouldn't admit. It was also something he had in common with Flug. The only difference is that he wouldn't pass out if he worked for two weeks straight with no sleep. In fact, just last week Flug had fainted from exhaustion during one of Blackhat's visits to the lab. Apparently he hadn't been sleeping like he he should have been, and Blackhat had to carry Flug to his room, which was luckily only a door or two down from the lab, and wait for him to wake up so they could continue with his daily visit. Flug got yelled at for not sleeping again when he woke up, too. The man didn't seem to understand the concept that the body couldn't live on only caffeine. He said he'd try to get out more sleep, but Blackhat didn't buy it. 

Though what else could he do? It was virtually impossible to ensure that Flug was getting enough sleep without either going into his room at night and shaking him to make sure he was in fact sleeping -which would wake him up and do the exact opposite of what was intended-, or actually sleep in the bed with him. And that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. So Blackhat just hoped that Flug was going to keep to his word and start sleeping again. 

For a few hours he was able to do his work with full concentration, until he looked over at the clock on the wall. It had just struck noon. Time to go check in on how Flug was doing with the Wilting Gun. It was supposed to be done by now. He got up from his desk and walked down to the lab. Where he could hear something akin to sobs. But it wasn't quite that; it was quiet, like whimpers. Was Flug about to cry? No, he couldn't be. He never thought of Flug as one who would cry. As weak as some people saw him, he did have guts. He had to have guts since he worked for Blackhat. He'd done some pretty awful things to people that would drive most insane within minutes of doing said action, in the name of his inventions. Now while he always doubted how much Flug actually enjoyed to do these things, or if he even liked doing them at all (thought he suspected that he might've enjoyed those actions all along with recent events), he did not expect Flug to be broken up over...well anything. Something had to be horribly wrong. 

Blackhat pressed his head up to the closed steel door to try to hear more. The second after he did the whimpers stopped completely. Almost as if Flug had sensed that someone else was listening to him. Though now there was new noise coming from the lab. 

"Shut up...!"

It was quiet and muffled, but he was almost sure that he just heard Flug tell himself to shut up. He kept listening for more, but everything else that was said was too muffled and quiet to be understood. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Flug was doing just that. Focusing solely on his work kept him from thinking about everything for a few hours until he finished the invention. For the the last thirty minutes he'd been dwelling on the subject. He could hear voices in the back of his head. They were louder than they had ever been. 

"Dear God...I'd be k-killed if anyone found out..." he mumbled under his breath. He buried his head in his hands, and had started to whimper. 

"Why couldn't I have just died in the crash...?!" The thought had ran through his head and come out through his mouth before. Here he was again. It seemed that he was doomed to rethink these same things for the rest of eternity. His whimpering was cut short by another quick thought. 

"Shut up...!" This one came out louder than usual. 

"She's dead...! And no one knows anything about it...! So, shut up...!" He stopped whimpering, and sat in the silence for a minute or so. For that single minute there was nothing, just a blank silence in his mind and in lab. It was blissful after the past 30 minutes of internal screaming. He could've stayed like that forever, but was interrupted by a knock on the metal door. 

"Dr. Flug, is everything alright in there?" On the other side of the door, Blackhat kept a poker face despite the fact no one was looking. He did the same with his voice. He knew something was wrong. But he'd be damned if he let Flug know that he knew that. 

"Y-Yes, sir. I'm fine." Flug told the same lie for the second time that day. He wasn't fine. A more accurate description of his mental, and emotional, state would be 'I can't stop hearing the voices of people who I haven't spoken to in years and I need some help', though 'I'm fine' didn't make people worried about him. So he was just gonna stick with that. 

"I'm coming in." Blackhat opened the door to find Flug sitting in his desk chair. He made sure to keep his poker face. The Wilting Gun was sitting on his desk, loaded and ready to go. 

"The project is finished, sir..." 

"Have you tested it yet?" 

"No, sir..." Flug's voice held no tone to it. It was...emotionless. Not even a scrap worry to it. Another sign that something was wrong.

"Well, tell Demencia to capture a test subject. We need to start shooting by tomorrow." Blackhat left the room quietly. He didn't stay around to watch Flug work as usual. Something was wrong, Flug was leaving something out. Though he didn't press for details. He couldn't make it seem like he cared. Which he didn't. He started to walk back to his office to continue with his paperwork, only to end up making a detour to Demencia's room because on his way to his office the whole manor was suddenly filled with heavy metal metal music, since Demencia decided to take her electric guitar and speakers and blast her version of "Ruin" by Lamb of God though out the house. 

"Demencia! Cease that retched noise this instant!" 

"Whaaat?!" She yelled back through the blaring music. Blackhat simply walked into her room and pulled the power cord to the guitar. 

"Hey!...?" She weakly protested to her boss. 

"I need you to go fetch a test subject for Flug." 

"Now?" 

"Yes, now. We need to start shooting by tomorrow and we need to make sure the thing works before we sell it." 

"Ok." She put down her guitar and pulled out a tranquilizer gun and a real gun from her dresser. Why she kept her weapons and her clothes together was a mystery, but it never caused any trouble, so no one really talked about it. 

"Hey, you were talking with Flug earlier, right?" 

"It's none of your business, but yes. May I ask why you want this information?" 

"Oh, 'cause Flug-ster was acting strange this morning. Thought you might know something about it." Blackhat made a mental note that it wasn't just him who noticed the odd behavior. 

"No, I do not." 

"M'kay, well better get hunting. See ya!" She skipped out past Blackhat and left the manor. She'd probably be back in 3 or 4 hours. Hunting and capturing humans took longer than most would think. 

He kept walking back to his office. He tried not to focus on Flug and his odd behavior. But it was almost impossible not to. What was going on? Flug was a strange person. Most people would think the same. A mysterious background, weird obsession with planes, and the fact he would never willingly show his face or any of his skin would indicate that. Though this took the cake. There had to be a reason he was acting like this; he just couldn't put his finger on it. He snapped out his thoughts when 5.0.5 stopped dusting and greeted him outside his office. 

"Aroo!" Blackhat grunted and rolled his eyes. He went in his office and tried to get back to paperwork. Despite the rare, peaceful, nearly silent environment from Demencia being out  he could just barely bring himself to focus. Why did this demand so much attention from him? He shook his head once again. This problem couldn't be anything that big; it had to clear up soon, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy this chapter took forever to write! This probably should've just been 2 chapters, but whatever.
> 
> Edit: P.S. This is the link to the song that Demencia's playing- https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VX-iB5GP-m4


	7. No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is pure Flug backstory.

Flug started to draw up some blueprints for a trapping device. He had no name for it yet, but the idea was that it could trap heroes and paralyze them while inside the cage part of the trap. Though he couldn't quite focus on it. Thoughts kept stirring in his head in the quiet lab. They weren't at all anything new, just reoccurring thoughts of how much he hurt those people and what would people say if they found out?! 

Oh God, he's a maniac! 

A chill ran down Flug's spine.

Horrid beast!

"No..." Flug choked out a whisper. 

Kill him!

He put his head in his hands. 

It's a monster!

"No...!"

Look at the freak!

"No." Flug curled in on himself.

Psycho!

He started to tremble.

Shoot it!

"No!" Flug shot up from his desk, still trembling. He wanted those names to stop. All those names...they stung. He'd been called names before. It was the reason he hated his face so much. He slipped a hand his bag and traced his unusual birthmark.

FLASHBACK 

September, the time most elementary school students start going to school. Matteo was in his bed, hiding under the blankets when his father walked in. 

"Matteo Alan Flug! Get up, or you'll be late for school!"

"I don't want to go to school."

"Well, suck it up. Because you have to." 

"I don't like school."

"It's just school; stop complaining about it. Now get up!" Matteo sat up in bed as his father walked out of his room. He hated going to school. Actually, hate was not a strong enough word. Loathe was a much more accurate description. But he needed to get up and go or he'd never here the end of it from his parents. It was the first day of 6th grade. His parents insisted on driving him on the first day of school every year because it was 'family tradition' on his mother's side. After he got into his uniform he went out to get some toast for breakfast. He hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night. Matteo couldn't fall asleep as he dreaded the morning.

He stared blankly out the car window as they approached the school building. He looked at the school doors when the car had stopped moving. All the same kids from last year were running inside the school; there was no one new. That was the price of living in a small town. Hertaol was actually the smallest town in Texas. They only had 2 schools: 1 for elementary and middle school students, and 1 for high school. Both schools were private. Every grade was never over 20 students. If you didn't make friends with one of the others 19 kids, you were fucked in terms of friendship until college. 

And Matteo had never made any any friends; it's not that he didn't try, it was just that no one wanted to be friends with the the "freak with the weird face". 

Matteo wasn't ugly; he didn't have any deformity per se. It was more of a...birthmark or birthmarks to be more exact. The 2 birthmarks were called Piebald and heterochromia. Meaning he had almost bleach white patches of all across his face and body, even his forelock was bleach white. Not to mention how noticeable it was, since his skin was a deep shade of tan and his hair was black-brown. His eyes also drew attention as the right one was blue, but the left one was brown. So there was no hiding any of it. Well, unless he put a bag over his head. 

Matteo left the car and walked through the door. He hoped everyone would just ignore him. 

They didn't. 

"Hey, Matteo." A voice called from behind him. He knew the voice.

"O-Oh, hi, J-Johny-Ahh!..." Johny Osla. He was Matteo's worst nightmare. He was the first kid in the class to start picking on him way back in kindergarten. And after that, the rest of the class joined in. He shoved him to the ground and went to the 6th grade classroom. Matteo picked himself, and brushed himself off. 

'Alright, that was a bit of a rough start. Though it has to get better. Right?'

Wrong.

6th grade was even worse than 5th grade. It seemed to always end like that. Each year it seemed to escalate. It was like it became a game to see how far they could go without killing him, or making him kill himself. It all started back in kindergarten when Johny started picking on him. Saying that his face 'looked funny' or that his eyes were 'weird'. It went all down hill from there. The other kids picked on everything. 

What's wrong with your skin? Do you have some sort of disease or something?

It looks like you're made from twigs.

Do your eyes even see the same thing? Or is one, like, blind?

What's up with your hair? Are you like a mad scientist? Because it kinda looks like a Bride of Frankenstein rip off. 

Your face looks like it was made from spare parts. 

Matteo? That's a stupid name. Your parents must hate you. 

Weakling! 

Why do you like planes so much? It's like you're a psychopath.

Faggot!

Cow skin!

It looks like you have twigs for limbs.

The insults never stopped, but it was only around 5th or 6th grade when it all started to get physical. In the beginning it was just a push or a shove; by high school they beat him up daily, leaving bruised almost everyday. With Johny always leading the group. None of the teachers really cared. Matteo was just another paycheck who showed no sign of leaving any time soon. So why get off their asses to stop it? It was a sick and cruel thing. His parents didn't really care either. He asked them about it, to which their response was: 'All kids make fun of other kids some time. It's not a big deal. Just get over it.' So while the adults went on ignoring it, Matteo suffered. 

///

He grew to hate the way his body was, the way his face looked, and he even began to despise his own name; he requested to be referred to as Flug (though no one ever called him that), all the reflective surfaces in his room were covered with clothes and sheets so he didn't have to see himself, he wore as much clothing as possible to hide his skin as it made him feel slightly more secure, and he lost his appetite and almost stopped eating completely. Even though that wasn't always the case. He actually ate more in order to gain weight in middle school because they picked on him for being skinny. Only to be called fat when he gained weight, and decided to start shoving his sandwich in his face at lunch. 

"Besides, the last thing you need is to get fat again." He mumbled to himself at lunch to excuse his eating (or lack there of) problem that left him with his ribs showing. He went to the bathroom and dumped his sandwich into trash like he had been doing for nearly two years. There was another thing that had become routine he poked eye holes into the paper bag that he carried his lunch in and looked in the mirror.

"Much better..." he whispered to him self. He felt better the more skin he could cover. As to why he used a paper bag to cover his face, it was a bit of a long story. He was being beaten by his classmates in the beginning of sophomore year. Nothing unusual; he was beaten up daily in freshman year too. But they took it a little farther than it should have gone this time. He was shaking on the ground outside the school when they left. It was after school and they had to get home. Matteo stood up and saw his reflection in one of the school's windows. He didn't want to see his face. He didn't want to see the thing that caused him so much pain anymore. Then he remembered the lunch that he had never eaten that day. An idea popped into his head. Matteo reached into his backpack and took out the paper bag that he kept his lunch in. He poked eye holes in it and pulled it over his head. Then looked back at his reflection in the window. For the first time since elementary school, he felt completely and utterly safe. The only skin anyone could see was some skin on his neck. Matteo walked all the way home like that. He didn't care how stupid he looked to everyone on the street. His face and body was covered. And with his hands in his pockets, it looked like his skin was just extremely pale. In his head he was finally normal.

\\\\\

He sat in one of the bathroom stalls with the door shut and his feet pulled up so no one would know he was there. Though he kept the bag on. 

Since that day he would throw away his sandwich and put the bag on at lunch. The paper bag had almost become similar to a safety blanket, along with all the clothing. Even if no one was there to see him wearing it; it was comforting to have it on. He actually dreaded taking it off at the end of lunch. And wore it whenever he was home alone. 

///

Though there were 2 other things he found happiness in, where he could forget about everything else: science and planes. 

He loved science, it came naturally to him. 'Genius' along with other similar comments were often written on his report card next to a line of straight As. 

Planes were a different story, though. He was infatuated with planes. Since he was a small child the concept of flight fascinated him. It was something that always drew him for reasons he himself weren't quite sure of. He had rented out every book at the library about planes and and had read them all...twice. He had obtained two books on planes: a guide on plane on how to fix a plane, and a ridiculously detailed guide on how to fly a commercial airplane. Both of which he bought at a yard sale in his junior year of high school. By the time he's was in college, he'd memorized the two books from the front cover to the back. He could probably fly a plane better than some licensed pilots if you actually gave him a plane to fly. Planes had nearly become his religion.

///

One of his happier days was when he graduated high school. He graduated at the top of all his classes. That morning he woke up early, and left the school with a smile on his face. But when he got home and all the celebrations were over, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread when he looked himself in the mirror. He never had to interact with those people again, but they wouldn't leave him alone. He thought and dreamt about all of it. None of it was pleasant. Not at all. Except for his fantasies about brutal deaths. 

///

He moved away from his home town as soon as he could. He thought if he could leave all those people behind, then he'd stop dreaming about all of it. He was wrong. He went to Princeton University in New Jersey for 8 years and double majored; he also graduated at the top of all classes. His professors said that he was at an Einstein level of genius. 

///

After graduation he was approached by 2 people who wanted to employ him. They refused to show their identity, and it was explicit in the job description that he would be working as an engineer and couldn't tell anyone where he was working. It was in a laboratory just outside of Texas in New Mexico. Matteo had no clue how to find a job on his own, so he took it. Taking that job ended up being one of  the dumbest decisions he ever made.

END OF FLASHBACK 

Flug snapped back into reality when 5.0.5 came into the room to greet him.

"Hey there, my big blueberry...!" Flug got a much needed hug from the fluffy bear and went back to work. 

'You need to stop dwelling in the past...' he thought to himself and got back to drawing blueprints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, I haven't updated this in a while...I feel like this is the most poorly written chapter of the fic since the flashback is a little choppy. But I didn't want it to go on forever when there's (spoiler) already MORE backstory coming! Anyways, till next time!


	8. HEY

Ok do you remember when I said I had no idea where this story? Well I still don't know where I'm going with it, BUT I've narrowed it down to 2 or 3 different things and I know don't where I was going with this rant. All I'm saying is that the tags and/or description might change. But I'm not gonna change it until the story is finished. Sorry for the rant, now I'm going back to writing. Thanks!


	9. Testing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More death and torture.

The day went on as usual, with the exception of being a little more quiet because of Demencia's absence. Flug had finished the blueprint for a new invention by the time Demencia burst through the manor's doors with his newest test subject. And going back to work distracted him for a little bit longer. 

"HEY FLUG! I GOT SOMETHING FOR YOU!" Demencia dragged in a gagged and bound guy into the lab. 

"He's knocked out for now, but he dude has been stirring since I got in the manor. I think he's gonna wake up soon." 

"Ok, well, just drag him into the containment chamber and make sure to lock the door." 

"Alrighty, Flug-bug." She continued to  drag him across the floor, nearly knocking over a few beakers after backing into a table. Before finally locking the guy in the containment chamber. Flug noticed that she leaves in her hair and mud on her shoes. He took a moment to hope that she hadn't tracked mud through the halls; mainly because 5.0.5 would have to clean it up. 

"Thanks, Dem." Flug weakly smiled, not that Demencia could see it. She worked hard. They all did. And as much as they appreciated each other, it was rare that they ever expressed it. 

"No problem. Call me if the testing gets bloody, I'd love to watch!"

"Will do." She skipped out of the lab. Flug went into the chamber and removed the gag. After leaving and locking the chamber door, he prepared the Wilting gun. Then pulled out a recorder.

"Wilting gun, entry #1. Test subject is an adult male around 25 to 30 years of age. Weighing around 160 pounds. No physical problems and/or illnesses are seemingly present. Preparing for test." Flug watched the subject on his computer screen; as there was a hidden camera, microphone, and speaker in the containment chamber since windows would give away where the subject was. The subject woke up a few minutes later.

"Mmmm...W-Where am I...?" His voice sounded staticky coming through the small speaker in the computer. The subject was awake. 

"Wilting Gun, entry #2. Subject is awake and is ready for test." There was a very small hatch in the wall where weapons usually were put through to shoot subjects. As Flug looked at the screen from across the room, then opened the hatch. He stuck the gun through the opening, looked at the computer screen, aimed, and fired. 

The bullet struck the subject in the calve, clipping the femur bone. A distorted scream came from the computer's speaker. Followed by what sounded like panting. Flug pulled the gun out of hatch and locked it. All negative emotions and thoughts washed away at the sound. And just for a moment, everything went back to the way it was yesterday. That sweet feeling of bloodlust. It was addictive. He could see some blood spatter on the chamber walls. The subject continued to struggle against his restraints. 

"Why do doing these things cause so much anguish afterwards? Especially when it feels so good..." Flug pulled out his recorder again. 

"Wilting Gun, entry #3. Subject has been shoot. And is showing signs of pain..."

He studied the computer screen.

"Zoom and enhance...zoom and enhance...there we go! Subject already has a deep green edging around the entry wound. The poison is spreading at a good pace. Subject should be dead within an hour." The subject's voice came over the speaker again. 

"What's going on?! Why are you doing this?!"

"Who are you?" Flug spoke into the microphone that was attached to the computer. 

"What?!"

"Answer the question. Who are you?"

"My name is Andy Deloinson! Now tell me what's going on!" 

"Nothing of your concern, Mr. Deloinson. Now I need you to tell me a few things."

"What?! What things?! Let me go!" 

"What's your mother's maiden name?"

"I'm not telling you that!" 

"Answer the question, or I shoot you again." There was a pause. Andy contemplated whether or not to answer. 

"My...My mother's maiden name is Keltinng." 

"Very good. Now, what's your house number?"

"Why do you need to know all this?!" 

"That is not of your concern. Now answer the question." Flug was enjoying every second of playing interrogator. It wasn't something he got to do too often. Though sometimes they'd capture a hero with some valuable information. And he got to ask questions along with Blackhat. And it was way more exciting than the average work day, or the interrogation that he was doing now, even if he wasn't the main interrogator. 

"My house number is 767. Now let me ask you some questions, bub. For starters, what the fuck did you shoot into my leg because it hurts like HELL!" Flug was looking at the screen and noticed that the dark green had spread. It was pleasing to see his inventions work so well. This invention was Blackhat's idea in the first place, but it didn't matter to him. He built it anyways. 

"Another thing that is not of your concern."

"WHAT THE FLYING FUCK DO YOU MEAN 'it's not of my concern'?!"

"Please calm down, Mr. Deloinson." 

"CALM DOWN?! DID YOU REALLY JUST TELL ME TO CALM DOWN WHEN THERE'S A BULLET IN MY LEG AND IT FEELS LIKE MY GODDAMN FLESH IS ROTTING OFF?! I'M GONNA KILL YOU, WHOEVER YOU ARE!"

"I'm afraid that's enough, Mr. Deloinson."

"FUCK YOU!" Flug took the gun and stuck it through the hatch again. He fired and missed Andy by about 2 inches. He may have not been as good as Demencia, but he was a pretty good shot.

Andy screamed and Flug locked the hatch again. He returned to the computer screen and microphone.

"That is your warning." Andy didn't say a word. Flug never intended to shoot him, but he pretended that he did to get him to listen,

"Now be polite and do what I say, or else I won't miss next time."

"Yes..." Andy looked defeated. Mainly because he was. 

"Good! Alright, I have one more question; do you believe in God?"

"Yes, I'm a catholic."

"Well then, you better start praying."

"Wait, what does that mean? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!" 

"Nothing."

Flug leaned back in his chair and happily watched as Andy's dark green flesh turned black and rotted off the bone. He yelled out random threats and curses until his throat hurt. It wasn't until the rot had started to spread to his torso that he started to accept his fate. Most subjects that didn't have a quick death accepted their fate at some point, but some people fought it to their death. Flug had mixed feelings on people like that, it was fun to watch them struggle despite how futile it all was, but at the same time annoying that they refused to shut up. It was powerful to watch them suffer, but if they didn't die quick enough it got annoying and he got the urge to just shoot them point blank. 

The rot had gotten to his torso and Andy started doing something that surprised Flug. 

He started praying.

"Our Father, who art in heaven...Hollowed be thy name...Thy Kingdom come...!" He stopped; a sharp breath escaping his throat. A muffled sob came from the speaker. 

"...Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven...Give us this day our daily bread...!" He sobbed again. 

"...and forgive us our trespasses...As we forgive those who trespass against us...!" More sobbing.

"...And lead us not into temptation...but deliver us from evil...A-Amen...!" The sobbing continued for almost the rest of the time Andy was alive. Which wasn't for too much longer. The poison had a field day when it reached his internal organs. It didn't take very long for it to reach the heart. After he had been silent for about three minutes, Flug went in to see if he was fully dead. 

Andy Deloinson was dead, alright. Flug checked the clock, and pulled out the recorder. 

"Wilting Gun, entry #4. 58 minutes have passed. Subject is dead. Test successful." He dragged Andy's now dead corpse into the incinerator. The smell of rotting flesh filled the containment chamber. He was going to have such an awesome time cleaning that up. 

Anyways, he needed to report his test findings to Blackhat. He ignored his conscience as he walked to Blackhat's office. 

'Why, of all times, do they have to speak up now?' He thought to himself. He knew why they had, but he still didn't like it. It was because of he others catching him kill Patricia.

Before he knew it, he was at the office door. Flug quietly knocked on the door, his boss hated when he or one of the others was too loud. 

"It's open." He stepped inside the room, shutting the door behind him. Blackhat was at his desk, doing paperwork. He looked up at Flug. 

"What are you doing here?" Despite it's wording, his voice held no annoyance or anger. Not that that was unusual. His voice was usually flat when he addressed his employees; it was his look that was unusual. There was a certain inquiry to his voice that suggested there was something more to his question than just business.

"I'm here with the latest test results for the Wilting Gun, sir." Blackhat's look changed to...relief? It puzzled Flug. Most people wouldn't even notice any of this. But as stated before, Flug had known Blackhat long enough to be able to read him like a book. And right now, said book was getting weird. He made a note of it and shrugged it off. 

"So, how did everything go?"

"It was a success, boss."

"Excellent. We start shooting by tomorrow. Be in the show room with your invention by 12:00 am sharp."

"Yes, sir." Flug started to leave the room when Blackhat stopped him.

"Doctor...?"

"Yes?" 

"Have you been getting enough sleep lately?" 

What? Did Blackhat just ask Flug if he'd been getting enough sleep? That just happened.

"Yes, boss." Flug lied. He'd been doing a bit lately. 

"Alright. You may go now." He left the room. They decided to speak up again. 'Ugh! Just shut up! What is wrong with me?' He thought to himself. 'I think the depression is getting to me again...' He was back in his lab a few minutes later, and went back to his work, shoving all those thoughts back down for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing really happened in this chapter, but I might put more backstory in next chapter. Which will be exciting, since it's hectic and a huge part of the story.


	10. NOTICE

I'm rewriting some parts of this fic, so anyone who's already read it may want to reread chapters "Shut Up", "Chat", "The Point", and "Coffee" again to fully understand what's going on. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Edit: thank you to everyone who gave me kudos and comments are appreciated! I LOVE the feedback!


	11. Losing It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just one big hunk of backstory.

Flug looked at the blueprint in front of him, checking for possible design flaws. There was only one and it was easily fixed. He should be working on uploading the blueprints of his last invention into that replicator machine in the basement (which he made so he didn't have to assemble an ungodly amount of his devices), but that could wait for the time being, he had an idea that he needed to work on NOW. The machine was simple, but affective. It was basically a pop up trap that could camouflage to look like whatever surface it was on. When stepped on by any thing over 80 pounds, it's walls shot up and trapped said being who stepped on it. Along with having a permanent paralyzing feature; it was also nearly indestructible. A useful tool to any villains' arsenal. He still didn't have a name for it, though. "Snap Trap" maybe? Or maybe he should just let Demencia name it. Flug opted for simply naming it Snap Trap, since the last time he let Demencia name something it ended up being called "the tentacle-dildo-catchy-thingy". 

He ended up renaming that invention himself. 

The thoughts of being judged and his classmates' mocking voices came back to him the minute his mind strayed from his work. Thoughts of distorted people yelling and laughing around him; of wanting to kill him. He set his head down his desk. 

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up...!" He mumbled, almost like a mantra. He put his hands over his ears like it would stop him from hearing the voices despite being inside his head. Those thoughts were going to kill him if they didn't stop soon. But why? Why suddenly now? He'd been doing this for years and drowning out the voices with his inventions worked every time; and eventually the voices and thoughts would just simply go away. Flug tried to think back to see if there was anything specific that could have caused it. He searched back for the past few weeks, and came back with nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then he remembered that he had gone through something similar before. 

That's when it hit him. 

"Dear God...I-I'm not losing it again, am I?" The thought horrified him. Was that even possible? Could his sanity really give out on him for a second time?

FLASHBACK 

"Dr. Matteo Flug, we'd like you to meet Dr. Jonathan Lueinski. He'll be your lab partner for as long as you work for us." Matteo shyly smiled and shook hands with the man standing across from him.

"Nice to meet you, Matteo." Matteo winced at his name. He never really liked his name. Not since they started making fun of him for it back in grade school. 

"Please, call me Flug." 

"Alright, Flug. Here, let me show you around the lab." He pulled Flug into the small building, leaving their employers behind them. The lab was small, but high-tech to say the least. And it was much cooler than the outside; damn, New Mexico was a hot place. Flug had grown a little too accustomed to New Jersey's cooler temperatures. Though he grew up in Texas, he knew he'd get used to it quickly. It had been explained to him after he took the job that he would be making inventions to help people. Along with defense mechanisms, and weapons that caused minimal damage to the person on the receiving end. 

When he asked why, his employers said that their purposes were classified. But it was pretty damn obvious he was working for heroes. It baffled Flug how Jonathan could be fooled by it. Not that he cared, a job is a job. And who knows? Maybe this would be good for him. Maybe he'll stop thinking like a bad guy and actually be able to live normally. Or even become a hero or win the Nobel Peace Prize, and right the wrongs people did to him or something like that. 

///

The job itself went pretty smoothly...For the first two weeks. Every single one of his ideas for inventions got shot down or modified to the point where they really weren't his ideas anymore. He had no problem making the inventions, infact, he excelled at it. If Jonathan gave him a blueprint, he could perfect the design and build the entire thing in 4 days tops. Which was fast in contrast of Jonathan's 14 days. His problem was thinking of inventions that were, in Layman's terms, good.

All of his ideas turned out more harmful than helpful. His weapons always seemed to have one ultimate outcome: death. And his defense mechanisms had offensive functions. They always were just overall...evil. He was aware that his ideas weren't what his employers were looking for, but it was still frustrating to have his concepts be shot down at every turn. 

///

Flug's ideas continued to be shot down. And Jonathan took notice of it. At first, he shrugged it off as Flug simply not having the swing of the job yet. As Jonathan Lueinski was a fairly optimistic man who dreamed of working for heroes one day (oh the irony) and was pretty smart; he was a little naive outside the world of science...ok very naive outside the world of science, but his heart was in the right place. Though as time went on, he began to worry about the ominous trend in all of Flug's concepts. He had kept some of the original blueprints and notes for Flug's inventions, and after studying them for a short time, he came to the conclusion that Flug was evil. 

More time passed. The two had worked with each other for about a year. And the mutual feeling of approval and general trust had washed away and things started to grown tense between Flug and Jonathan. Jonathan began to fear Flug. Every single day Flug came up with new evil inventions, and showed no signs of stopping. Jonathan decided to be 'the hero' as he would put it and tried to steer him away from the path of evil, but no matter what he did, Flug still couldn't make a good invention. To make matters worse, Flug grew more and more frustrated with Jonathan. He began to get more easily irritated about things that happened between them, Jonathan caught him kicking trash cans outside the lab and doing similar things passive aggressive things (mainly towards him), he even caught Flug talking to himself a few times. 

Now Jonathan might've been slightly more sympathetic if he knew what Flug was going through. The abuse from his peers that ended years earlier had, unknown to him, given him PTSD; leaving him with night terrors every night, the screaming and crying from waking up from those nightmares alone got him kicked out of two apartment buildings and almost kicked out of his college dorms. Not to mention that he barely ever got any sleep because of it. 

When he was awake, he heard voices. The voices of of his old classmates, they repeated insults and mocked him even in his own mind. His face was a particular trigger for these voices, which made it hard for him to live every day. He actually started covering all mirrors and reflective surfaces. And to top it all off, on his best days, he fantasized about the deaths of his classmates. None of which came anywhere close to quick or painless. He thought of cutting their stomachs open, of unspooling their intestines, of hearing their flesh rip as they screamed and sobbed in pain. It was...pleasant in some odd vengeful kind of way. Though as pleasant as it was, he tried to suppress the emotions. Since the malicious thoughts made it a little hard to function like a normal person. 

///

It was the last straw. 

Jonathan couldn't take it anymore. Flug had been coming up with evil inventions for almost two years now, he could not make a good invention no matter how much he tried to help him, he'd cursed the at him and done every passive aggressive thing he could do to him, but this was the straw that broke the camel's back. 

Flug had gotten tired of his inventions being shot down; he had gone behind Jonathan's back and made one of his inventions. 

"Why didn't you run it by me?!"

"Because you would've shot it down like you always do." He said through his teeth, clearly agitated.

"But this is FAR from what our bosses want!" He gestured to the blue and purple colored gun that Flug had recently finished making. It looked sleek, like something heroes would use. Though Jonathan was right, it was far from way they were looking for. 

"We've been making everything their liking, so if one of the machines we make isn't what they're looking for, so what? Besides, I've already tested it and it works like a charm." 

"You tested it?! WHAT DID YOU TEST IT ON?!" 

"I tested it on a stray cat, alright? Why are you so upset? Animal test subjects are needed sometimes. Though our employers don't seem to know that..." The last part was angrily mumbled. He was correct on that part. They never did get a living test subject. Meanwhile, Jonathan was in the corner, freaking the fuck out.

"Now, excuse me while I go call our bosses and tell them we have a new invention!" 

"You can't do that!"

"Why not?" 

"Because we'll be fired if they find out that you made a ray gun that makes things spontaneously combust!" 

"No we won't!" Jonathan grabbed Flug's wrist. 

"YES WE WILL!" Then he looked up at Flug. There was a genuine look of hate in his eyes, just for a split second before he yanked his wrist away from him.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Flug stormed off with the gun in his hands. 

It was in that moment that Jonathan knew Flug needed to be stopped. 

///

A month had gone by and they had recently hit their two year anniversary of working together. They had barely spoken to each other since the incident with the ray gun. Jonathan decided once again he was gonna play the hero. He needed to stop Flug before he hurt some one, but he couldn't just call the police when there was nothing that could prove that Flug did anything illegal, and he couldn't steer him away from evil, so there was only one other option: death. Though he couldn't just straight up murder Flug, so he came up with the ideas to kill Flug and make it look like he was testing his own secret inventions on himself. 

Jonathan forged some typed notes and calculations, then created this serum that was only meant to have one outcome, killing Flug. It was supposed to look like Flug was secretly working on a serum for immortality and miscalculated before injecting himself with it and then dying. It was the perfect plan...But there was one little detail that Jonathan forgot.

He forgot to actually test the serum.

The night of murder arrived. And every thing was going as planned. Jonathan had a 3cc syringe filled with the serum hidden in the pocket of his lab coat. At the end of the night, when it was almost time to go home, Jonathan struck. He grabbed Flug from behind. Holding his arms down as best as he could. 

"I'm so sorry..." He injected the serum into Flug's neck. He immediately let Flug go and placed the syringe on a table. Despite knowing that this was for the greater good, he felt horrible for doing it and started to cry. 

On the other side of the room, Flug was absolutely furious. 

"WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK DID YOU JUST INJECT INTO MY NECK, JONATHAN?!" Jonathan didn't respond. Tense silence filled the room. Within a minute or so Flug stared to feel his body heat up. 

"Jonathan..." Flug gritted his teeth as he talked. 

"Why am I getting so hot?" Flug had begun to sweat as his temperature skyrocketed to 120 degrees within a few minutes. A burning sensation spread throughout his body. Almost as if something had set his insides on fire. Flug clutched his heart as that was the source of the pain. 

"I-It hurts..." He felt his knees shake. And that's when his nose started to bleed. Then his mouth. And it just wouldn't stop bleeding. Flug fell to his knees. He'd never been in so much pain before. Blood started to pour from his mouth. Eventually he started chocking on it. That's when he understood that he was going to die. There was no saving him. No one going to help. He was going to die there on the cold lab floor. He slowly laid down. It hurt to move. Pain had seized his entire body. And the pool of blood next to him grew. The last thing he remembered before growing tired and finally shutting his eyes was Jonathan's blue sneakers.

"Oh my God...!" Jonathan had just watched his coworker die. And it was NOT in the way he expected. He took a step towards the body and poked it. He almost vomited after that. Unfortunately, Jonathan had never planned what he was gonna do after Flug had died. So he was just panicking around a dead body on the floor. After a half of an hour of freaking out he decided to place his fake notes on one of the counters and just go home. Then call the cops tomorrow morning saying that he found the body. 

But things didn't go as planned. 

Jonathan fumbled with the keys to the lab as he unlocked the door. His hands had been shaking since Flug's death. 

Then he heard a groan coming from the other side of the room. 

He shot around. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? No. No. He had to be imagining it. Though what he wasn't imagining was Flug's body slowly get up off the floor. 

Flug stood up, what just happened? Did he pass out on the lab floor. Then he noticed the unreasonably large pool of blood on the floor. His blood. And it all started coming back to him. 

Jonathan's entire body shook. This...This wasn't happening. This wasn't possible...! He had to be dreaming. He had to! As little sense as it all made, it was the only plausible explanation for all this. He shut his eyes and tried to wake up. It was only when Flug spoke to him that he accepted that this was real. 

"You...You tried to kill me...You did kill me..." Flug's voice sounded distant. Almost as if he was 5 miles away despite being right in front of him. Flug felt lightheaded. But he was in no way was going to faint. In fact, he felt more powerful than ever. As every agonizing detail of what happened came back to him, seething anger and hate flooded his his mind. He balled his hands into fists. 

"You thought you could get rid of me!..." At that moment, something inside Flug snapped. He walked towards Jonathan, who was simply staring at him in horrified awe. 

"You little son of a BITCH!" In a fit of anger, he struck Jonathan square in his jaw. That felt good. That felt really good. 

"P-Please, I-I'm s-s-sure we c-can wor-work this all o-out, Matteo-" 

"THAT IS NOT MY NAME!" Jonathan shook and inhaled sharply. Flug leaned in towards Jonathan's face. 

"My name is Flug, Johny." Flug had lost his grip on reality. He wasn't in the lab anymore. He wasn't sure where he was, but he didn't care. All he knew was that Johny Osla was in front of him. And he had just hit him. 

"J-Johny? You've n-never called me that b-befor-" 

"SHUT UP!" Flug struck him again, this time in the nose. A twisted smile spread across his face. He hit Jonathan for a third time. Dear God, did it feel good to hit someone. So he hit him, again and again and again. The world around him seemed to twist and bend. One moment, he didn't know where he was, the next he was back in the lab, then he was outside his old high school. He wasn't quite sure who he was hitting, the faces flashed between Jonathan and Johny, but frankly he didn't care who he was hitting. All he cared about at that moment was hitting them again. At something point, he started pulling beakers of who knows what off the counter and smashed them over Jonathan's head. 

Jonathan Lueinski died that night. Flug beat him to death. It was only 10 minutes after he died that Flug came back to reality and realized what he had done. Though instead of panicking like Jonathan, he immediately started to cover his tracks. It wasn't like he could call the cops and tell them he killed someone. It was the dead of night in the-middle-of-nowhere, New Mexico, so no one was around to witness him go home, pack nearly everything he had into 2 suitcases, douse all evidence and Jonathan's body in gasoline, and set the place on fire. By the time someone realized that the lab was on fire, Flug was 2 states away and all the crucial evidence was charred to a crisp. He kept a low profile and assumed a new identity with the help of some makeup, a wig, and contacts. He went to Vermont where he forged some documents and got a job as a pilot. The funny part in all this was that he was an amazing pilot, despite never going to flight school. (His obsession with planes went farther than anyone could fathom.) 

After that his life started going pretty well. Though things quickly went bad after that.

FLASHBACK TO BE CONTINUED...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to write. This is a super long chapter, and Flug's backstory isn't even finished! Oh well, it'll be finished soon. And then we can get on with the story.


	12. Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory. All backstory.

CONTINUATION OF FLASHBACK:

Flug's job as a pilot went fairly smoothly for the first month or so. People were a little suspicious of him at first, but soon forgot about it because of how he excelled as a pilot and how nice he was. Flug's only life outside of school and work was planes, so it's really no wonder that he learned how to fly one between age three, when his obsession started, and now. With a pilots salary, and the fact that no one around the area knew him at all, it wasn't hard to get a very small house in that area. 

Most people trusted his new identity, Michael Smith. He was blonde, with green eyes and pale skin. He just got out of flight school, was smart, and kept to himself. He made nice with his co-workers and flattered people, but not so much that he looked like a kiss-up. He was perfect. His life was perfect. 

But not for long. 

Ever since what happened with Jonathan, he felt...different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was wrong. Spots on his body would begin to feel sore. Like he'd recently hit in on a wall or something. And slowly, the soreness would spread. Until his entire body had been affected by it. And after he was sore in one area for a little bit it would just go away. He couldn't explain it, but the spot that used to be sore was different from the parts of his body that hadn't gotten sore yet. But the weird part was that his body never physically changed. Little did he know he was changing, very much. That's when he noticed it. He woke up one morning to a weird feeling in his mouth. Like his teeth had gotten bigger. 

As much he loathed looking at his face in the mirror, he had to. He had, no, absolutely needed to figure out why his own teeth felt like they didn't belong in his mouth. So he removed the sheet that he used tho cover the bathroom mirror and bared his teeth. 

He was right. His teeth had gotten bigger. Well, not all of his teeth. His canines and lateral incisors had gotten bigger, longer, and dare he say it: sharper. Meanwhile, his central incisors had gotten smaller. It was like they were becoming dog teeth. There was no way this was happening. But then again- he did DIE and come back to life after Jonathan injected with that serum. Wait a minute...

The serum. 

The serum that Jonathan had injected him with that night, the one that was supposed to kill him (and keep him dead), was doing this to him. It has to be. What else would be causing all this? 

Flug would find out later that the serum; which was the reason that he was walking around, wasn't technically a serum. When making it, Jonathan made a mistake. He didn't create a serum, he created virus. A virus that hadn't only killed him and brought him back, but stayed present in his body. It worked like cancer; it infected each cell in his body and made it reproduce modified versions of the itself...shortly before killing said cell. It took a little while, but it soon replaced every single cell in his body. 

His teeth had almost completely morphed into dog's teeth. His lateral incisors were near over a half and inch long with his canines nearly double that size. Luckily his central incisors hadn't changed very much; they were just smaller. His molars stayed relatively the same as well, the first one back became a fang, but that was it.

He did his best to hide it, he talked as quietly as possible and didn't open his mouth unless he needed to. Wearing a germ guard to work on and off along with pretending to have a cough while he attempted to fake sickness so he wouldn't have to show his teeth that went past his gums; it felt so odd. The paranoia of someone finding out his secret was killing him. Especially with his preexisting anxiety. Which made his coworkers become slightly wary of him.

///

He was just so hungry.

It didn't start out as much; nothing more than that familiar feeling in his stomach that signaled to his brain he needed food. So, he did exactly what anyone else would do, he ate. And there wouldn't be anything wrong with that...if it actually satisfied his hunger. 

///

It was getting out of control. 

Flug couldn't understand it. He ate. As much as he could and he was still hungry. And he never gained weight, oh God, was he getting thiner? It was as if he was...starving. It made no sense. And that was saying something with all the things that happened to him recently. He needed to eat. There had to be to be something that he could eat. Anything.

///

"Someone get the first aid kit!"

One of Flug's coworkers had cut their hand on something. It went a little more than halfway down the back of her hand and was fairly deep. Blood dripped down her hand and fell to the floor. 

Flug couldn't explain it, but he couldn't take his eyes off her hand. Everything seemed to slow down as he watched her blood flow. Drip. Drip. Drip. His senses sharpened. He could feel his stomach growl, and his mouth watering. He unconsciously licked his lips in his daze-like trance. And even through his contacts, his pupils visibly dilated.

"MICHAEL!" Flug suddenly snapped out of his trance. 

"O-Oh, I'm on it!" He ran to get the first aid. Later that night he pondered why exactly he was so focused on her hand. And it wasn't until he felt the hunger pains in the pit of his stomach again that he realized why.

"No. Fucking. Way."

///

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." Flug stared down at the carefully packaged steak on his counter. He unwrapped the packaging and held the cold cut of meat in his hands. He was just about to toss it in the trash when sharp pain ripped it's way through his stomach. The next thing he knew he'd sunk his teeth into the meat. With a shake of his head and a pull backwards, he'd taken a large chunk out of it. For once, his teeth had actually come in handy. He barely even chewed before swallowing. In less than 2 minutes, he had eaten the whole thing. 

Flug let out a sigh. Man, did it feel good to tear that thing apart. There was blood dripping down his face and throat. In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have worn a shirt during this. 

Though nearly a minute later he held a hand on his stomach. 

The hunger was back.

///

"Are you sure you don't want me to take him on the test flight, Michael?" 

"Yes, I'm sure." Flug nervously adjusted his collar as it had slipped down to reveal his (now starting to jut out) collar bone. He had been losing weight lately, though didn't give up on trying to eat. Despite the fact that it did nothing to satisfy his hunger or give him any sort of nourishment. There was a new recruit, a young boy that was fresh out of flight school. Flug was given the task of taking him on a test flight before he was given he job. He had packed his bags and loaded them into the plane; he did have another commercial flight to fly afterwards. 

"Alright..." The other pilot turned to the new recruit and patted him on the back. 

"Good luck!" And with that he and Flug boarded the plane and away they went.

///

Flug groaned. A flight to Texas and back was a long one. He rubbed his temples; he'd been having bouts of lightheadedness recently. Maybe taking this test flight was a bad idea. 

"Hey, are you ok?" The new recruit glanced over at him with a concerned look on his face. 

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, just keep flying." Oh God, it was stronger than usual this time. The sharp pains in his stomach were nonstop. It was hell. He was so hungry. His mind dwelled on his coworker's bleeding hand from last month. He couldn't quite understand why that of all things made him salivate. But nonetheless, it did. 

///

Some time had passed since they had taken off. And the lightheadedness had gotten worse. The hunger pains in his stomach and the thought of dripping blood seemed to take over his mind. Flug was absolutely sure that he was going to pass out, but had lost the ability to put words together. A coherent thought seemed to become a challenge for him. In a haze, Flug fumbled with his seat belt until it unbuckled. He stood up.

"Um, Mr. Smith...? Sir?" The new recruit worriedly glanced back and forth between the sky and Flug. Flug didn't speak. He forcefully grabbed him and tried to pull him out of his seat. 

"Hey! What the fuck?!" The new recruit struggled out of his grip and struck him across the face, smearing off some of the makeup.

Flug gained a single moment of clarity to realize what he was trying to do and ran outside the cockpit, slamming the door behind him. The new recruit could hear banging and shuffling behind the door.

"Smith! Smith! What's going on back there?!" He called out. In retrospect, it might've not been the best idea. But what could he do? They were thousands of feet in the air, with nowhere to land. And the only other person that he could possibly rely on if something went wrong, just tried to attack him and was now behind that door doing God knows what. 

On the other side of the door, Flug was trying to keep himself sane and failing miserably. The pain in his stomach was starting to become unbearable. A thought that consisted of anything more than one word was impossible to string together. And only though was on his mind anyways: food. He had lost all ability to do anything other than follow his instincts. 

Flug opened the door and re-entered the cockpit, mouth watering. Then started towards the new recruit. 

Flug went straight for the attack. But the new recruit fought back. The makeup smeared off during the fight and the wig came off too. He new recruit also saw his his teeth and almost fainted.

And that's when the plane crashed. 

///

Flug had fortunately fell to the floor when the plane crashed and escaped mostly unscathed. The new recruit, however, wasn't as fortunate. 

Flug stared at his now dead body. And did something that he's never done before. 

He pulled his sleeve up and sunk his teeth into his arm. 

When he finished with the first arm, he moved on to the other arm. Soon he had removed the flesh from both arms. He even lifted his shirt and took bites out of his abdominal muscles. 

Once he was done eating, his sanity returned to him. He pulled down the sleeves and shirt of the now forever new recruit, realizing what he'd just done. Flug put a hand on his stomach. The hunger pains. They were gone. He was finally full. That is when he understood why he was so focused on his coworker's bleeding hand, and also understood what exactly he needed eat from now on if he didn't want to starve to death. Which, in complete honesty, was perfectly fine.

He looked in the wind shield. Without the wig and makeup he could see the reflection of his face; he didn't want to seek his face. Oh God, he had gotten so used to not seeing his face that it pained him to look at his reflection. He needed to hide. Now. But what could he obscure his face with? Then he remembered the packed lunch he brought with him in his luggage for later that day. He found his luggage in which he'd placed in the deck and pulled out the lunch that he packed in a paper bag. He dumped it's contents out and poked two eye holes in it, then slipped it over his head. Man, it felt good to have his face covered. He hadn't done this in years.

Just then, he heard the tapping of dress shoes coming from outside the crashed plane. Come to think of it, where exactly had he crashed?  
END OF FLASHBACK

"No...This isn't happening..." Flug mumbled in the science of the lab. 

"This can't be happening...!" He curled into himself, slightly rocking back and forth. He was mentally cracking and had no clue what to do. He only knew one thing: stop the voices. He needed to make them shut up, make them shut forever. He needed to, by any means possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took forever to write, but school has been killing me.


	13. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from Flug on this one.

"What do you mean you lost the shipment?!" Blackhat growled into the old telephone that hadn't been updated since the 1950s. 

"I don't CARE what happened JERRY!" Blackhat tightened his grip on the old dial-up phone; he was standing up, pacing the room in frustration. Why did these lackeys have to be so idiotic?

"THAT TRUCK HAS OVER 50 POUNDS OF PURE, UNCUT, COLUMBIAN, COCAINE ON IT! AND YOU BETTER FIND THAT TRUCK OR YOU ARE GOING TO BE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE EAST RIVER! IS THAR CLEAR?!" He subconsciously pulled the cord as he spoke and it threatened to send the phone crashing to the floor.

"GOOD! NOW GET TO IT!" He slammed the phone on it's receiver, nearly breaking it. How did those bloody imbeciles lose 50 pounds of cocaine in one night?! He continued to pace the room like an agitated bull.

Blackhat did a lot of things in his business. His company would legally sell cigarettes and other harmful and possibly harmful products to civilians, and illegally fuel the drug and weapons supplies of petty criminals, along with aid some of the most high class super-villains. None of which would ever come close to Blackhat's status. It was what made his company one of the best in the world and worth a few million from the legal products alone. 

Unfortunately that meant that there was always some sort of work to do. Whether it was the never ending paperwork, meetings with clients and other villains, or making sure that his lesser employees had done what they were told to do. 

Right now was one of those times. And of coarse they'd fucked up. Royally fucked up. And it was infuriating. 

But as much as times like this made him want to gut everyone and anyone to ever exist, he loved his job. Spreading evil and making money. Two of the best things in the world, and he did them every day. 

"BLOODY FUCKING IMBECILES!" Though right now was just a time to be angry.

Blackhat took a minute, or 2, or 20 to angrily grumble and yell at the air. The entire manor could probably hear him, though he didn't give a flying fuck at the moment. 

By minute 21 the grumbling and yelling had become nothing but growls that simply tapered down into heavy breathing around minute 32. And he was finally back to normal at minute 35. 

He sat back down at his desk. It was getting late; about 10:00 pm. Today's paperwork, phone calls, meetings, and other tedious business ventures were done. So he had two choices,  
1\. Get a head start on tomorrow's work and probably not go to bed until 4:00 am if at all.  
2\. Reflect on the completely uneventful day. 

Blackhat decided to go with both. 

He pulled out a file containing another ridiculous amount of paperwork and started to read through it. Letting his mind wander about halfway through.

5.0.5 wasn't much of a problem today, but then again he usually wasn't. Demencia was a pest as always, playing music that could be heard through the office doors and insisting on coming in to chat about these idiotic things called 'fan-doms' and 'yow-ee', whatever those were. 

Then there was Flug. Christ, it always came back to Flug. He was acting so odd today. It was about the 5th time he had thought about it and the fact that it bothered him so much annoyed Blackhat.

But nonetheless, it drew his attention. The concept poked and prodded at him; it screamed 'LOOK AT ME' at the top of it's lungs. 

Flug was a person of patterns. Most are. There was a how, when, and why for the way he acted and over the past two days that pattern of how, when, and why had been shattered. It was unsettling, intriguing, and, as redundant as it is, odd. Where did this suddenly come from? Why was it happening? So many questions-and absolutely zero answers. 

He got up and started to pace again. He shouldn't be so hung up on Flug's odd behavior. It was probably nothing, and would clear up in the next day or two. 

But why didn't it feel like nothing? Why did it feel like so much more? Either Blackhat was missing something or he was loosing his mind and at the moment it felt like both. 

Lucky for him, there was an interruption to his little reflection. 

The phone was ringing again. Now villains usually stay up late but to call someone unannounced with no previously stated business was off. Maybe it's those imbeciles from New York who lost their shipment.

"Hello?" There was muffled yelling and what sounded like gun fire on the other end. 

"We...found...the shipment..." So it was the imbeciles from New York!

"Alright, what's the problem?" 

"It'll be in California by...the day after tomorrow...also...I'm gonna die anyways...fuck you..." Blackhat wasn't sure if Jerry was talking to him or someone else that was with him in New York. Though that question would never be answered as the call either dropped out or he had hung up.

Oh well, Jerry was dead. Or at least he probably would be dead within an hour. Now h e had to remember (more like pretend to remember) the name of whoever moved up in the gang as 'next of kin'. Why they decided that a family structure was the best way to organize gangs baffled him. But that's not the point.

Blackhat's mood improved. That lost shipment ordeal worked out better than he expected. Less stress for Blackhat was always good when you worked under him. Well, unless you liked demonic voices yelling and the possibility of dying in 7 different ways hanging over your head. 

Though the moment didn't last long. His mind wandered right back to where it was before. He mentally groaned. There it was again. He needed to get his mind off of this topic, or solve this little mystery. But that was highly unlikely; given from past experience that Flug would likely take this to his grave. So the first would have to do...for now. He walked out of his office, carefully shutting the door behind him. A walk would be a good way to clear his mind. It usually is for most beings, isn't it? The halls had quieted down, though the sound of loud heavy metal music could be head within the feet of Demencia's room.

The manor was ridiculously huge; it was riddled with long empty hallways and seemingly endless rooms that were nearly never used. It was calming in some weird and creepy way. At some point he ended up at a hall with a clock hanging on the wall. Looking at and realizing it had been three hours since he'd started walking. He needed to get back to his office and go back to work now. But what hallway was he in again? He hadn't been paying attention to where he was walking. Hell, he didn't even know if he was on the same floor as he started on. He glanced around for any sign of his location, and then he saw a familiar metal door that told him exactly where he was. 

Flug's lab. 

Every thought he had about Flug from over the day had came rushing back. He guessed that in wouldn't hurt to check over the lab. To see what ideals Flug had been cooking up, of coarse. He silently walked over to the door. It was steel with a small plexiglass window at the top of it. Then he noticed that a light was on. That was off. Flug never left lights and electronics on. Blackhat peered inside the window to see Flug hunched over his desk seemingly writing something. 

Why was he up so late? Flug should've been in bed at most an hour ago. Humans are usually sleeping at this time, right? He contemplated whether or not he should interrupt him for a single second before opening the door and walking into the lab. 

Flug jumped out of his seat, grabbing his chest and now pounding heart. He spun around in his swivel chair. 

"Oh...good evening, sir. You startled me." 

"Why are you awake at this time of night?" Blackhat stated blankly.

"Oh...I-"

"I thought you said you were getting enough sleep like I ordered you to. And correct me if I'm wrong, but going to sleep at anytime later than midnight is well under what is needed to be productive or healthy." 

"You're correct, sir. It-It's just that sleep alludes me sometimes and I decided to get a head start on the blueprint for my next creation. I'm almost done, actually." Well damn it, he could relate to that, since he usually stared the next day's paperwork when he was finished with that day's. 

But nonetheless, Flug needed sleep. Unlike Blackhat. Flug waited for his boss's response. 

"Alright, finish up with what you're working on. Then go to sleep. If you faint again I'm not going to carry you to you room." That would be a lie. But that's for a different story. 

"Yes, sir." With that, Blackhat left the room; leaving Flug with his thoughts and himself wondering why exactly the doctor wasn't sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! The next chapter! I'm not sure if I'm totally happy with it, but I can review and change it later. I know it's been a while since I've updated, but I've been real busy and shit...Anyways, I'll try to get the next update to you guys sooner.


	14. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug's thoughts and plane.

Flug was pulled out of his thoughts once again by a familiar hug from his 'big blueberry'. 

"O-Oh, hey there fives..." His corners lips pulled upwards in a small smile. He loved his creation and wished he could spend more time with him. Flug relaxed into the hug, he loved those hugs. But then again, who wouldn't? Those huge fluffy arms were perfect hugging material. Oh, he was so glad that he messed up while creating him. Flug looked up at 5.0.5, he looked worried. He had seen him. He knew he did. It made sense; 5.0.5 visited him very often, usually once, maybe twice, during the day. But to come to him for hugs at this time of night was odd. 5.0.5 went to bed early. 

The hug helped calm him down a little, enough to gather his thoughts. He needed to stop the voices, they were going to kill him if he didn't. But how exactly was he going to do that? They nearly never shut up. Flug reached up to scratch behind 5.0.5's ear. It was his favorite spot to be scratched, after all.

"Araa..." 5.0.5 smiled, he'd purr if he could. Flug pulled his hand away after a few seconds. 

"It's ok, fives...I'm fine." Flug still sounded slightly distant. But 5.0.5 was nothing if not trusting. He was slightly hesitant, but after another minute or so, he pulled away and left. Flug continued to look for design flaws and ways to advance the Snap Trap. Maybe add a killing feature via fire? No, no, to pretentious. But he did jot down the concept for a later idea. Every idea was a good idea. Or good concept at least. He tried to think of other things; other ways to kill anyone trapped inside the box. Though they all seemed a little pretentious or awkward. 

He decided to simply go with his first idea and started drawing up more formulas and calculations; he glanced up at the clock. It was 11:37 pm. 5.0.5 visited at around 10:00 pm; had he really been working for over one and a half hours? Well it was possible, there were a lot of notes from rejected concepts for his newest invention. Flug simply shoved them aside and into a messy pile. He would have to file those later. 

He continued to toil away at a notebook for whatever time it took him to get write the ungodly complicated calculations that made his machines work, and he was almost done. One or two more formulas and the blueprint would be finished. Then he could start the next project.

He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't hear the lab door slowly creak open.

What he did hear though was the sudden clicking of footsteps right behind him.

Flug sprang out of his seat; heart pounding against the walls of his chest. Out of all the things he thought might happen, his boss sneaking up on him at close to midnight was not one of them. 

"Oh...good evening, sir. You startled me."

"Why are you awake at this time of night?" His boss starred blankly at him. Shit, he'd been caught red handed. Oh well, lets see if lying will save him from this one. 

"Oh, I-"

"I thought you said you were getting enough sleep like I ordered you to. And correct me if I'm wrong, but going to sleep at anytime later than midnight is well under what is needed to be productive or healthy." Wait, later than midnight? Flug glanced over at the digital clock on his desk. It was past 1:00 am! For the love of God, he was in in trouble. Think, think, think, there's got to be way out of this!

"You're correct, sir. It-It's just that sleep alludes me sometimes and I decided to get a head start on the blueprint for my next creation. I'm almost done, actually." Flug broke a sweat under his bag. He wasn't out of the woods just yet. Hopefully this wouldn't get him a scolding. 

"Alright, finish up with what you're working on. Then go to sleep. If you faint again I'm not going to carry you to your room." Blackhat's tone sounded something along the lines of exhausted and ever so slightly annoyed. Out of Demencia, 5.0.5, and himself, Flug was the only one who ever understood what that meant. The tone communicated one fairly simple concept: 'I've reprimanded you for this offense so many times that I'm done being furious but I'm still angry and a bit frustrated, so just please do what I say or else I will make you.' 

Flug understood that; he followed the unspoken order whenever it was give to him. The others, who didn't really even know there was an unspoken order to begin with, never followed it. And...they got in trouble. As always. 

"Yes, sir." And with that, his boss left the room.

Now, the bigger question was, why did his boss care? He wasn't that smart (he surpassed Einstein by a minimal of 30 IQ points but his low self esteem would still never allow himself to be thought of as smart). So their was not much of need for him. Blackhat could find someone 10 times smarter than him in a day, so why did it matter? Could it be because of Patricia? 

And there he was at square one again. He was thinking about what happened again with the voices in tow, whispering harshly in the back of his mind as they threatened to invade and take over the entirety of his thoughts. 

Flug shook his head violently. 

No! He was getting away from this, Goddamnit! He slammed the notebook shut mid-formula and immediately left the lab, just managing to switch the lights off as he left. Screw the mess he left behind! He needed a change of scenery and he needed it now. 

Flug swiftly, albeit quietly, stomped to the next level of the manor. He knew exactly where he was going and he couldn't wait to get there.

He new he was close when he could feel the hallway get colder. He stared at the door at the end of the hall. It was open as there was no reason to lock it. He thanked some higher power, not being specific as to which one, that Blackhat never decided that it was a door not worthy of locking. He turned the cold steel door knob and shivered. He pushed it open slowly with an eerie, yet promising creek. 

The area was supposed to be one of the larger bedrooms in the manor going by the crushed queen sized bed and shattered lamp lying next to the somehow untouched night stand. 

"It's good to see you, old friend." Flug quietly said to himself. He stepped forward as broken glass crunched beneath his feet. Single strands of moonlight shown through the holes in the roof. As he stared up at his limousine into working for Blackhat. 

The planes hadn't changed much from when he last visited it. Flug climbed up into the cockpit through the shattered wind shield. He plopped down in the pilot's which was still stained with blood from his long dead trainee. Flug put his seatbelt on and started going through the motions of taking off for flight. 

He'd done this before, it's one way he kept true to his passion of planes through all these years. At least once a week, every week, he would go up to the room and practice flying the plane (without actually flying of course). He'd done so much that it was like second nature for him. 

He pressed a few buttons and flipped some switches going through each motion with ease. Then gripped the control wheel, and with a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and imagined the sky. 

His mind relaxed as he dreamt that he was flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *GASP* What's this?! I'm alive?! How shocking! Anyways, my apologies that this took so long to write, I'm trying to get these out as fast as I can. But to the point, I don't know if I'm completely happy with this. It's a bit short, though that's ok. Maybe the next chapter will be a little spicier. Idk.


	15. Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Flug:(

Running. Panting. The hunt was on. 

He sprinted through the halls. He wasn't quite sure where it had taken him, but it was dark. 

And it was quiet. 

He stilted his heavy breathing. The thick, hot, heavy pants eventually tampered down into a hushed breaths. Thin streaks of moonlight shined through dirty windows; it just barely lit the hall as he stared into the pitch blackness that was the other side. It was hard to even see his hand in front of his face, but that made it all the more fun. 

Then came the silence.

Either he had cotton in his ears or his pray had decided to try and muffle it's footsteps. He stopped. Then perked up; he was listening for the slightest movement, the quietest creak in the floor boards, the the most muffled shuffling. It felt like hours had gone by and it probably had. But that was just fine. He was patient. Suddenly there was a crash on the right side at the other end of the hall.

Bingo. 

He dashed to the corner, ready to ambush his next meal. His stomach hadn't taken over. Not yet. Either ways, hunger was seeping through into his thoughts and he could feel his insides begin to whine. But he knew what he was doing. He was aware of every single second.

Crash. 

He ran smack into the wall. 

Brushing himself off, there was a crunch under his feet. The prey had tricked the predator. It knew he couldn't see. It threw a vase at the other side of the hall to throw him off; to trick him and give itself time to get away. But he wasn't giving up that easy. 

He made a swift turn, and continued to pursue the fine piece of flesh. 

It wasn't long before he could hear a second set of footsteps. He sped up, panting once again as sprinted towards the sound. Soon the two passed a window, the moonlight showed just how close Flug was to his catch. 

Thud.

It was the prey's turn to slam into a wall.

It was a dead end. His prey searched desperately for a way out, anything that would give it another chance to run. But there wasn't any. It was the end of the road. Flug had won. 

He cornered it; heavy breaths from both parties filled the space. It closed it's eyes in a small prayer, excepting death. It threw it's arms up as Flug lunged forward. He sunk his teeth into the forearm flesh. A short lived scream came from it's throat as he immediately withdrew and it's arm as it fell from the pain; it was still screaming as he tore it's throat out, vocal cords and all. Which really helped quiet the prey. The whole ordeal had taken only a few seconds. Flug swallowed the chunk of throat after a few brief chews before going back to his meal and eating the arm meat. 

It hadn't quite died yet, it was more of just sputtering and choking on the ground while losing blood fast, yet somehow he had torn a large strip of meat off the arm and finished it. Mmmm. The meat always tastes the best when it's fresh. 

But the feeling didn't last though. 

Suddenly there was yelling; flashlights shone through the window. Muffled, yet hurried footsteps rang through the old house. They found him. He was in a corner, there was nothing he could do, except wait. Flug sunk down in defeat. They were there; they shined lights in his eyes. Their words became clearer. 

"KILL THE BEAST!"

"LOOK AT THE MONSTER!"

"Is that thing part cow?" 

"KILL IT!"

"FREAK!" 

"Oh my God! It killed someone!"

"COW SKIN!"

Suddenly there was laughter. Flug didn't know where he was, he didn't want to. But he did know that the laughter was getting louder. 

Where was he again? 

The laughter was getting louder. 

He was...in a building...it...

The laughter as getting louder.

Was he at school?

The laughter was getting louder.

But...no...it was old and dirty...

The laughter was getting louder.

Wait...

"COW SKIN!"

He was at school. 

It all made sense; the voices, the names, and the laughter. It never stopped. It's never ended. Just louder.  And louder.  And.  Louder.

"Aww, look! It's crying!" 

He was. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Suddenly there was a pain in his stomach and he stumbled backwards into wall. 

"...no..." Flug choked out. He was kicked again. He wasn't sure if they didn't hear him or just didn't care. From past experiences, he guessed it was the second option. Someone grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him into the air. 

"Did you think you could get away from me, cow skin?" 

"J-Johny...?" He forcefully rammed Flug into the wall. 

"Say it again." 

"..." Johny dropped him and delivered a low blow to his nose. 

"SAY MY NAME!" 

"J-J-Joh-" Another hit. 

"No stuttering!" Flug gasped panted. 

"Johny!" He picked him up again, but this time by the hair. 

"Good. Now, stand." He dropped him again, then stepped on his right foot. Flug stood with trembling legs. 

"Now, play dead." Johny hooked the left side of his face, Flug fell to his knees then he kicked him dead in the chin. Flug fell down. There was no point in protesting; he was much stronger than him. If he stayed still for long enough, he'd go away. He had to go away. 

He closed his eyes. 

Just play dead. 

 

"Choke him!"

 

A voice in the crowd,  
"Choke him!"  
Can become the crowd quickly.

He could feel fingers rapping around his neck.  
He was in the air. He couldn't breathe. It happened so fast. The chanting was becoming dull. He could see Johny's face with no expression, but even that was becoming blurred. 

Even so he didn't fight back. If this is how he dies, at least he wouldn't have to deal with the voices anymore. 

 

And then it was all over. 

 

Flug burst to life in his seat; gasping for air. It was all a dream. This is why he hated sleeping. 

He was shaking all over, and could feel something cold and wet on his cheeks. Apparently, he was crying in his sleep. Flug looked around, he was still in the plane. He must've fallen asleep there. Wait a minute, what was the time? 

Oh shit. 

He rushed down the out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He was in the lab about two minutes later. He quickly finished his latest project's outline, the Snap Trap, and began (then finished) another idea outline: The Tab. It was a small gun, tiny enough to keep in your pocket, that shot out tiny bullet. Inside the bullet was a small tracker, so you can track and "keep tabs" on your all of your archenemies. All in hopes of not being scolded so harshly that he'd go pass out. 

It took a grand total of about 2 hours to complete all of this. Before rushing to his boss's office. With a hurried, and louder than he intended, knock. His hand had barely left the door when it swung open to reveal a pissed and frankly confused Blackhat. 

"Sir! I'm sorry for the delay! I-I have the blueprints for my next two inventions and I can probably finish the first one by tomorrow! I promise this will never happen again and-" 

"Flug." 

"I just need your approval and I can start the both of them, I'll do my best to finish the second one in two days, t-tops! Well I can push it to-" 

"Flug." 

"And so it might sound a bit st-stupid, but I assure you that'll work! The first one will be a little tougher to construct though I'm fairly confident that I can finish it quickly if I skip my breaks and lock Dem out of the lab and-"

"FLUG!" 

Flug quickly shut up. God, he was so dead! 

"Will you please shut up for a single second?!" His voice laced with annoyance. He quickly nodded his head waited for the screaming to start. 

"Now. What are you rambling on about?" 

"My latest i-i-inventions, sir." 

"Inventions? As in more than one?" 

"Y-Yessir."

"How long have you been working on them?" 

"T-Two hours, s-sir." 

"Two hours? Did you not go to sleep like I told you to?" He was incredulous.

"What? W-Wait what time is it?"

"About 7 A.M., doctor." Damnit, out of all the things he did after waking up, 'check the clock' was not one of them. Blackhat rubbed his temples and sighed. 

"I can never figure out what's going on in that head of yours, doctor. You humans don't do so well without sleep as I've seen before and I will not have you dying on me. So will you please not spend every waking moment in that lab of yours and get some rest." Blackhat was tired beyond belief of Flug and his inability to understand that the simplest concept of sleeping. His voice was dead flat; he really just wished he would do what he told him. 

"But, isn't that what you do, sir?" Damnit! Why did he say that?! Was he that sleep deprived?! If Blackhat wasn't going to kill him before, he definitely was now! Flug shook. Blackhat stared at him with a deep scowl on his face. Blackhat wanted to scold him for talking back, but nonetheless, Flug was right. Blackhat hadn't slept since he got back to the office. Even if he didn't need it, sleep was nice and took a little stress off him. 

"Alright, you've made your point." He growled out. Blackhat had nothing to say. His tone was angry, a bit annoyed, and a little frustrated, too. 

"Just...go to your room. Get some sleep. And meet me in my office in two hours. Am I clear?" Flug was confused. Why didn't he just tell him to get back to work? But before he could respond, the door was slammed in his face. Leaving him to follow orders and go back to his room.

This was gonna be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I just LOVE torturing Flug, don't I? Sorry this took so long to get out. AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! So I'm sorta happy with this chapter, but not really. Oh well, you win some you lose some. Either ways thanks for putting up with my shit. And hope you enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I might put notes later, since I really have no notes.


End file.
